Little Devils
by Markings24
Summary: Sherlock starts as a science teacher after a Moriarty related mistake. John, headmaster, encourages him to get to know his students, who are not as unintelligent or untroubled as he thought. Olivia, one of Sherlock's kindest pupils, strikes a particular sentimental chord in him. Slowly progressing student/teacherlock! Trigger warnings: physical violence, sexual content, abuse.
1. St Francis Comprehensive School

**Hi everyone! **

**This fic is not set in a particular time, although I imagine it to be before mobile phones or computers became available. It starts slowly but will later have violence, abuse, lots of hurt/comfort and romance! It will also explore Sherlock's sexuality. **

**The story will be rated M from chapter 7 onwards.**

**I hope you like it. This is my first fanfic so reviews are very very welcome!  
**

**Disclaimer: Based on BCC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: St. Francis Comprehensive School**

It was a warm September morning, a pleasant breeze drifting through the streets of north London. The sweet smell in the air came from fresh bread in the nearby bakery, coffee beans and fried bacon from the diner, the dust from the streets and late summer bloom.

"How'd you sleep?" John asked, looking at Sherlock walking next to him. His friend was looking grim. He was paler than normal and clearly wasn't eating enough. Still, he appeared better than a couple of weeks ago, when Lestrade banned him from the Yard. He'd done so after Sherlock had solved a case at the expense of 3 of his officers. Two of them had been hospitalised, one of them had been sent straight to Molly Hooper.

Sherlock scowled at John but straightened his shoulders. "I am not nervous to be in a room with a couple of empty headed children, John. I'm sure they will annoy me mostly, but it will be a distraction," he huffed.

Sherlock desperately needed the distraction; Mrs Hudson had even threatened to end the contract on the flat if he didn't stop making so much noise. Not to mention the dangerous toxins that regularly invaded her flat.

John sighed. "Of course you're not nervous. I was thinking about everything that has happened in the last month. You've had to deal with a lot and, -I know we've talked about this- I want to make sure you're healthy. You've been playing the violin almost every night in the past week."

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction. "Have you been discussing my mental health with Mrs. Hudson?!" He raised his voice.

"Of course I have. Got to know you're not up to anything stupid", John said with a slight smile.

"I am not capable of stupid," he snapped.

"If that were true, you would still be solving cases for Lestrade right now, wouldn't you?" John retorted.

Sherlock looked angrily at the trees lining the pavement but said nothing.

It had been extremely stupid. It had been the stupidest thing he had done in a long time. Now he was paying the price with a drastic and, in his opinion, rather degrading career switch.

They had reached the gates of St Francis, a small secondary school where John had been appointed headmaster almost two years ago. It was a rather old and pretty building, but image was disturbed by the hoards of children. The schoolyard, which was mostly stone but a couple of trees and benches, was busy with teenagers greeting each other and chatting excitedly about their holidays.

John gave a satisfied sigh. "Well, anyway, from today you will be in charge of teenagers, so try to behave as much like an adult as you can. Stick to the reading materials provided, and try not to humiliate them too much. Let me know how it goes."

With an encouraging pat on his shoulder, John set off towards the old brick building. He was completely at ease in his surroundings, greeting some parents and pupils on his way.

Sherlock didn't know what to expect exactly. His contact with teenagers had been quite minimal in the last fifteen years. He only spoke to the streetwise ones in his homeless network when he needed them to look out for someone, or to the traumatised ones when he needed information on a crime scene. The ones running around in this schoolyard were excruciatingly loud, and he couldn't imagine being in a confined space with them for more than 5 minutes. However, Lestrade had not responded to his messages for over a month, and this seemed like a better alternative to being bored out of his mind at home.

* * *

Olivia raced through the gates and brought her bicycle to a halt just in front of the bike stalls. While locking it, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Liv!" Rose called out to her while she came running. The girls hugged and grinned at each other. Olivia felt a feeling of happiness spread in her stomach while she listened to her friend's voice chattering away.

She took in her surroundings. It had been way too long since she had been here. The two months of summer holiday had gone by slowly for her. Now she was finally back for her third year and it felt like a comforting warm blanket was being wrapped around her.

After chatting about her holidays, Rose came with some interesting news.

"Did you know we have a new science teacher? McMullen had a heart attack in his backyard last month and drowned in his grandchildren's kiddie pool!" Rose exclaimed excitedly, her dark curls bouncing.

"Is that true?" Olivia asked, more disturbed by her friend's curiosity for these morbid rumours than the death of her former teacher. McMullen had been the most boring man she had ever met. He mostly recited the textbook and sometimes he spoke so slow that he'd forget how his sentence had started. His face was blank and his voice was soft. It often took all her willpower to stay awake in his classes, and she knew her classmates had similar problems. Rose had failed his class last year, but luckily had better marks in other classes to make up for it.

"Lucy told me. She got it from Anthony… But anyway, they say this new guy is like 30 years younger than McMullen, so by definition he cannot be as boring", she said matter-of-factly, and Olivia smiled.

She loved seeing her best friend again. She and Rose had been best friends from the first day they set foot on the grounds of St Francis. Olivia had been a lot shyer then and Rose's confidence made her come out of her shell. Rose had humour and was quite intelligent, even though teachers often didn't agree with her.

* * *

They went inside the old building and walked towards the science classroom, which was already halfway filled with pupils. Their new teacher didn't look up when they entered. He sat behind the desk at the front of the room, skimming their textbook, looking bored. He did indeed look much younger than most teachers.

They found two empty seats at the back of the class. Rose preferred sitting at the back so that if the lesson got too boring she could easily focus her attention on other things without getting caught.

Olivia straightened her brown plaited skirt as she sat down. It had taken her ages to iron it last night and she didn't want to undo her work so quickly. She greeted Anthony and Lucy sitting in front of her, who both looked tanned and slightly less happy to be back at school. Olivia felt a giddiness spread in her stomach, so happy was she to be surrounded by people again.

Her summer had been lonely. Her dad had spent the entirety of it inside the house, watching telly, lying in bed, staring out in front of him. He said he was too tired to take her anywhere and she was not allowed to venture out by herself, which made for an extremely dull summer. A couple of times she had convinced him to let her go to a museum. Both times he had sat in a café nearby to wait for her to come out.

At exactly 08.30, the man at the front of the class stood up and gazed at the 23 pupils. Olivia noticed he was somewhere in his mid thirties, tall, dark hair … handsome, although not in a conventional way. He wore a black tailored suit with an off-white shirt. He looked posh but wore no tie as was customary for teachers. Slowly, the chattering in the class died down and when he had most of their attention he started speaking.

"Good morning, young people. I am Mr Holmes and will be attempting to teach you some basic science and chemistry this year." As he turned to write his name on the blackboard, he went on "Mr McMullen will not be coming back to his school due to an unfortunate event involving heart failure and some ankle-deep water..."

"Told you!" Rose elbowed Olivia in the ribs, grinning. Olivia winced and then smiled. She couldn't help but think that what Mr Holmes had just told them was probably against protocol.

Mr Holmes swiftly turned back to the class and focused his piercing eyes at Rose, who instantly straightened in her seat. Then he returned his attention to the entire class.

"Some rules before we start. Don't speak when I am. You may address me as Mr Holmes or sir. Raise your hand if you have a question. Try to keep the amount of stupid questions to a minimum. I don't enjoy wasting time on explaining the self-explanatory. If you are late, don't bore me with excuses. I will let you in or I won't, depending on my mood."

Rose and Olivia exchanged glances. This man clearly knew how to keep control of his class. His deep voice had a natural authority to it that made her want to pay attention.

"I will now take attendance." Mr Holmes sat down. His back was straight as a candle as he picked up their list of names.

"Mr Andrews?" His blue eyes flickered through the room.

"Present" a hand shot up somewhere in the middle of the class.

"Mr Ashworth?"

"Here!"

"Don't shout at me." He snapped, "I might be twenty years older than you, but I can hear every whisper in this room." At this point some of the pupils started shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

* * *

Sherlock tried not to be too direct (i.e. rude) during the lesson. He also tried to turn off the deducing part of his brain, preferring not to know what these children were up to outside of his class. Everything went to his satisfaction: attentive faces directed at him and no questions at all (although that might have been because they were too scared to raise their hands).

He got distracted when a pupil came in about 20 minutes into the lesson. The boy, Billy Mitchell, was out of breath and looked at his teacher defensively, opening his mouth to give him an excuse for being late. But Sherlock just glanced at him with an annoyed look on his face.

"Mr Mitchell, take a seat and try not to be late again. I will not let you in next time," he spat.

As he turned back to the blackboard in order to continue explaining a formula, he noticed a slight limp as the boy walked to an empty seat. Immediately his mind came up with 16 possibly incriminating explanations for that limp. But he stopped himself, rubbed his temple for a moment with the side of his hand and began where he left off. Pupils continued scribbling nervously to keep up.

The only one who dared to ask a question was Joan Davies, a girl sitting in the front row. The rest of the class sighed as she raised her hand, clearly used to her eagerness. She spoke with the superior arrogance Sherlock used himself so often during a case. His immediate reaction was to shoot her confidence.

"Stupid question. I'd be inclined to let you reread the chapter in the textbook." Then he saw how her arrogant façade dropped instantly and realised this probably wasn't the most professional way to deal with confident pupils.

"However, from the blank faces of your classmates I infer that more people are struggling", he said, and proceeded to explain the matter in the most simplified way he could think of.

During his explanation, he noticed that quite a few faces suddenly lit up, eyes big, and started to scribble down whatever had been illuminated in their head. Sherlock knew that they had suddenly grasped the knowledge and experienced a strange feeling of satisfaction.

He gave the class some exercises to do, sat back in his chair and picked up a newspaper. He was happy to shut out their stares for a while and went through the crime reports of the day, although his ears remained alert to whatever went on in the room.

Billy, who had sat down next to Eric, was not in the mood to concentrate. He was still a bit shocked by Mr Holmes' reaction. Any other teacher would have asked for a note from his parents for being that late or have sent him to detention immediately. Mr Holmes did not seem to care about his reason or whether he could prove it. Now his new teacher had completely closed himself off from the class and was engrossed in a newspaper, ignoring the few hands that were hesitantly raised for questions.

Eric was watching their new teacher with fascination. Billy could practically see him plot how he could sabotage their new professor, who seemed way too confident for Eric's taste.

Suddenly, Mr Holmes snorted.

"Idiots", he said and licked his finger to turn the page.

"This guy is a real nutter", Eric whispered. "Completely mental, I tell you."

"I have no more mental issues than your gambling father, Mr Walker, so don't worry", came a rumbling voice from behind the newspaper.

Everybody looked up. Eric's face turned red as he stared angrily ahead, but said nothing. The tension in the room eased again as people concentrated on their work.

After a few minutes, Olivia felt a nudge from Rose. The note that was passed in front of her already had several people's handwriting on it. Anthony seemed to have started the conversation:

_[A]_ HOW did he know that?!

_[R]_ Knows Eric's family?

_[A]_ Unlikely. It's mean to call him out in public like that though… Maybe it's not even true!

_[L]_ If it's not true Eric would definitely have said so. Anyway, I knew!

_[R]_ Lucy, you told me, Olivia, Peter and a bunch of other people the moment you heard about Eric's dad! Are you sure you weren't the one who told Holmes? [Smiley face]

_[L]_ Ha-Ha no! I've not had a friendly gossip chat with Holmes! I sure wouldn't mind though…. [wink]

_[R]_ Oh God. Lu has found a new victim…

Olivia couldn't repress a smile while she read her friends' discussion. She was biting on the end of her pen to think what she'd write, when a sudden presence startled her. When she looked up, Mr Holmes was standing next to her with a predatory look in his eyes. He snatched the note from her desk, and silently read the paper.

Olivia felt the blood rise to her cheeks and had no idea what to say. She felt the others nervously alternating their glances between her and Mr Holmes, whose eyebrows had risen a little while he was reading.

"Miss Edwards, is it? I would advise you not to partake in this discussion and continue with your work."

Olivia gave a quick nod.

"How do you know it's not her handwriting?" Rose blurted out.

"Because Miss Edwards' handwriting is right in front of me in her notes", he snapped. Then he turned his attention to the rest of them.

"For everybody's information, I don't care whether you can or cannot suppress the urge to communicate during my class, but if you can't, please make sure the discussion is at least intellectually challenging. I'm sure you can do better than this."

He walked back to the front of the classroom leisurely, on his way dropping the note on Anthony's desk. Anthony gave a puzzled look. Surely none of his handwriting had been visible on his desk. How had he known he had started writing the note? This only added to the mystery that was forming around Mr Holmes, and of course asked for more notepaper discussions.

Lucy finally relaxed when her teacher resumed his place behind his desk. She truly hoped that Holmes had not identified her handwriting as well. They didn't dare speak or write to each other again during that class.

Eventually, Sherlock started picking pupils to read out their answers. Every wrong answer received a sneer or a ridiculing comment, but he was quite pleasantly surprised that at the majority of them were correct.

Still, when the bell sounded to mark the end of class, everyone was a bit relieved.

"Read whatever is on the schedule for Thursday. I will bring a practical example then. This stuff is already boring me," the pupils heard their teacher mumble as they left the classroom.

Sherlock waited to leave the room as he felt the vibrations of corridors being stamped by hundreds of young people.

* * *

At lunchtime John introduced Sherlock to the rest of the staff in the teacher's room. His reputation had preceded him.

Sally Donovan, who taught English, gave him a disapproving look. Sherlock could see that she thought he was dangerous and didn't understand why John, as head of school, would let him be around any children at all. Anderson, Maths, gave him a short handshake and a fake smile.

He knew that John had had to defend the decision to have him replace McMullen. Although it had been kind of John to stand up for him, Sherlock didn't care at all what they thought and hoped that any teamwork could be kept to a minimum.

Mary, John's wife who worked as a biology teacher and was the school nurse, was the only other staff member openly approving John's decision. She gave Sherlock a warm smile before she dug into her sandwich.

"How are you getting on with the kids?" she asked

"I was not aware that I needed to get on with them. I explain things to them and they listen. Aside from that they do not interest me", Sherlock said as he poured himself some coffee.

"Not up to you your usual standard of company then?"

"How could they be, with people like that clogging their minds with nonsense?!" his head jerked in the direction of Anderson and Donovan. Mary chuckled.

"Oh Sherlock, they are nice kids. Well, most of them anyway. You should get to know them a little. Might make things less boring for you actually."

"The day I need children to keep myself from getting bored, my life will not be worth living," he said defensively.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! I will update regularly. Please follow/favourite and review!**


	2. A Practical Example

**Trigger warning: mention of abuse, violence and suicide.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BCC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 2: A practical lesson**

Sherlock stood at the window, drawing the curtains together to let minimal light inside. Behind him, the classroom started filling up with class 3B. He had gotten a bit more used to the loud stupidity of the teenagers that surrounded him everywhere in this place, and he felt less crowded by them. During the last couple of days he'd learned that he could indeed force some knowledge into their little heads, and that this actually made him curious to try a more interesting method.

Call it a human experiment of some sort.

When he turned his icy stare towards the class the murmuring died instantly.

"Very good. As you know, irrelevant gabbing should be kept to a minimum in this room." He started slowly pacing behind his desk and let his penetrating gaze wander over their faces.

_So clueless. How do they keep themselves alive?_

"For today, you've read chapter 3 & 4. If you haven't, please keep your mouth shut for the coming two hours." [Nervous glances and shuffling in chairs]

"I've brought an example to show you how scientific knowledge can help us solve real life problems. Today we will be delving into some simple forensic science."

Joan raised her hand in the semi-dark.

"Miss Davies?" he said without looking.

"Shouldn't you take attendance?" she asked with eyebrows raised.

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at her.

"Today we are missing Miss Rose Edeson and Mr Billy Mitchell. I will not go through the tedious process of reading your names every time, so I've decided to remember them." He straightened his back to resume his pacing.

"Most new teachers won't remember our names until the Christmas holidays."

Sherlock looked at her again and he could not supress the urge to show off.

"Well, that's probably because my mind is capable of a lot more than the average St Francis teacher's." He looked the blond, posh-looking girl over. "Give me a couple of seconds and I can tell you where you went on holiday, what you had for breakfast this morning, if you've done your homework, what pets you have, what your parents were arguing about last night, and I can tell if you're lying to me when I ask you if I. Am. Correct." Sherlock was now about 2 feet away from Joan's desk, bending forward a little. She looked up at him with a terrified expression but didn't speak. Too intimidated. "However, most of that information is completely irrelevant and dull, so I won't… unless you make it necessary."

"If you could do all that, you wouldn't be a teacher here", came a voice from the back of the room.

It was Anthony, who was sitting in Rose's seat, next to Olivia.

Olivia saw Mr Holmes look at her neighbour with an intimidatingly stoic expression. Anthony stared back, daring him to reply. Everybody held his or her breath for a moment.

"Let's start class." Sherlock said eventually. Olivia relaxed.

He walked towards the middle of the room and turned on the projector. The first picture that came up was the first page of a police report.

"Female. 37 years old. Found in her house in Sussex", his baritone voice sounded official now.

He switched the slides and the image of a freezer appeared, filled with a woman, her white frosty limbs folded neatly over her body. Her dead eyes were staring up at the camera. Several pupils gasped or looked away.

"Don't worry, she was not related to any of you. I checked."

"You can't show us this! We are underage and it is confidential information!" Joan exclaimed, her earlier fright completely forgotten.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "If you can't handle it you are free to leave, Miss Davies. But you won't, because you are too curious to see where this is going. So shut up and observe."

Sherlock waited, and Joan looked angry but shut up and turned back to the screen.

He let the class study several pieces of information that had been critical in the discovery of the killer, like her medicine cabinet, the autopsy report, pictures of the house, the lab results, and information on the husband.

"Rose would have been thrilled by this", Anthony whispered to Olivia. She nodded with a smile. Rose loved solving mysteries, but usually had to imagine them herself, as nothing exiting went on at school most of the time.

"Pity she has the flu, but at least now I get to sit next to you for once", he told her with a grin. Olivia blushed and looked at her notebook.

"You shouldn't make him angry, you know," she whispered

"Holmes? I think he's a lot less scary than he looks," Anthony said with confidence, trying to impress her.

"It's Mr Holmes to you Wilding. Stop flirting with Miss Edwards and try to keep your mind focused for more than 10 seconds. And I am much more dangerous than I look." Mr Holmes spoke from a few rows in front of them, looking ahead of him. Anthony startled.

"I've already solved it, sir." Anthony defended himself.

Sherlock turned towards them. "Have you? Enlighten me, then."

"Ehm, well…" He proceeded to relay his findings and suspicions hesitantly. Many of his peers did not agree with him and a heated discussion ensued as to how the murder occurred and why.

Although it was a relatively simple case, hardly even a two in the Sherlockian crime complexity rating system, Sherlock felt quite satisfied about some of the theories he heard. After a while the noise became too much for his ears and he decided he needed to intervene.

He quieted them down and calmly explained that the woman had been an addict, and that the bottles of medication in the bathroom had actually been hers, even though her husbands name was on them. He had been afraid of her and helped feed her addiction by getting the prescriptions, many of them for medication that could have severe side effects. One day the woman had attacked him and he'd shot her out of self-defence.

"Then why didn't he tell the police? He was not really guilty right?" Lucy asked.

"He said he was afraid because he had helped his wife get the drugs, which is illegal. Also, he apparently loved her so much that he felt guilty and didn't want to let go of her, so he made sure she stayed in the house. Couldn't tell you why someone would care so much for their abuser, but apparently it happens."

He was silent for a while so they could gather their thought and take notes. Then he continued.

"This was a relatively dull incident. I thought it would be best to start off with something graspable. Next time, when we discuss chemicals, I will bring something more interesting. Class dismissed."

* * *

"THAT... was the coolest class I have ever had", said Lucy as they walked down the corridor towards their lockers.

"Definitely. This guy is wicked. I wonder how he got all those files." Anthony mused.

"I want to know where he got those sexy eyes", Lucy continued with a dreamy look. "He's the hottest teacher we have! Don't you think?" she said, looking at Olivia expectantly.

"He's handsome, you're right." She said. "But I also get the feeling that he doesn't give a damn about our opinion of him."

"Strangely, that makes him even more attractive", Lucy said thoughtfully.

"Donovan is by far the hottest teacher!" Anthony interfered.

"I think every guy and Rose agree with you on that one." Lucy giggled.

Rose was gay, and although she didn't have a girlfriend everybody in the school knew that. She often joined Anthony in conversations about women he found beautiful. Some of the pupils teased her about it or called her names in the street, but she shrugged everything off and they usually they left her alone quite quickly. Olivia admired her for not letting any of it get to her. She sometimes stood up for Peter when he was being bullied, but didn't how she would react if the name-calling would be directed at her.

"I have to get to my meeting with Burke", she said.

"Shall I walk you to his office?" Anthony asked innocently.

"No, don't be silly, it takes like 1 minute. See you tomorrow!" And she was on her way, leaving a disappointed Anthony and an amused Lucy behind.

She knew he fancied her, he made that quite clear, and she was flattered. He was good looking and a friend. He'd joined their class at the start of last year, but they had only really been friends since a couple of weeks after her mother died in February. He had come up to her one time after school to ask how she was feeling, and when they got talking he'd told her that his father had died three years ago and he had felt really lonely and angry for a long time after that. She liked him and he made her laugh.

It was only towards the summer holiday that he'd started innocently flirting with her. She enjoyed his attention more and more but was not sure of her feelings towards him, just like she wasn't sure about any of her feelings lately. Her mood changed from one minute to the next and she sometimes cried for no reason at all, or spent days in bed feeling extremely tired. She felt great when she was with Anthony, but she wasn't sure if that was just because he made her forget about other things. That's why she hadn't really responded to his advances so far. She'd hate to ruin their friendship.

Olivia was not very eager to see Mr Burke. He was her mentor at the school. In their first year every pupil at the school got appointed a mentor who would monitor their progress and attendance, and who could assist them in any academic decisions. Their mentor was also the person they could go to if you had any personal problems. They would be the first person to try and sort out the issue, or put the pupil into contact with someone who could.

A couple of other people from 3B also had Burke as their mentor. Nobody liked him very much. He was a huge and intimidating figure, and very matter-of-fact. Not particularly someone who you'd want to chat to about your personal problems.

Burke had made an appointment with her because he needed to know how she was doing after the summer. It was protocol for a mentor to regularly check up on pupils after a tragic event like a death or a divorce. He said he cared, but she had only had three appointments with him, one of which he had forgotten about. She had waited for an hour at his office until Ms Donovan found her and told her Burk had already left.

Mr Watson's talks with her had been very helpful, though. He didn't make appointments, but he regularly asked how she was doing when he saw her, and had sat down with her in his office a couple of times with tea and biscuits. He was always kind and understanding, and had made sure she could retake some exams she had failed. Once, when she told him she had trouble sleeping, he'd taken her to see Mrs Watson (who would always let you call her Mary when you were in her office). Mary had been very kind and had given her Melatonin pills that she said were very innocent but would help her fall asleep at night. They had helped a little.

While she was thinking this, Mr Watson actually appeared in the hallway. His face was scrunched in an angry expression and he was walking in her direction in a fast pace. His face softened when he greeted her, but he quickly walked passed her as if on an important mission.

* * *

It only took 15 minutes for John to show up in his classroom. He was fuming with anger.

Sherlock was reading the day's newspaper, his legs stretched and crossed with his feet on his desk.

"What the hell Sherlock! I told you to stick to the curriculum!" he fused. "I cannot let you traumatise these kids, or worse, have their parents gang up on me!"

Sherlock slowly put the paper down. "I was just giving an example of how science can be put to use in everyday life."

"Everyday life according to your life! How many of these kids do you think are used to seeing dead bodies? This school should be a safe place, Sherlock. Somewhere they can be sure they won't be confronted with violence, in whatever shape or form." John breathed heavily through his nose.

"Calm down John. They seemed very interested. Nobody fainted." Sherlock said nonchalantly. His impossibly relaxed attitude made John even angrier, his face turned a brighter shade of red and he started pacing.

Sherlock peered at him. "Is it really such a big problem? Just tell the angry parents to call me with their complaints."

"You have no idea how important this is, do you Sherlock. Remember what this school was like two years ago, when I arrived?"

"I had never been here until a couple of weeks ago John."

John ignored him. "This was a deeply religious school. The first thing they taught was to fear God. There was extreme discipline, punishment with rulers, bible class everyday, and absolutely nobody encouraged pupils to explore the world or think for themselves. The council let me have this job because there was nobody else, and because they needed more schools open to non-religious pupils. When I started changing the curriculum and made sure that everything related to God was non-compulsory, half the parents moved their kids to a different school within a week. I received letters telling me I was Satan! I had to fight to keep the bloody place open and to gain some level of trust from these people. They were terrified that if their children had any fun at school they would turn into junkies and criminals. I worked very, very hard to create a school with small classes, excellent teaching, where children are encouraged to be curious with every safety precaution. They now actually get to learn about modern Art and history that doesn't stop at the enlightenment period. I managed to get sexual education to be approved by the board of studies only recently."

"It seems that my purely scientific and secular teaching practices fit right into your approach!" Sherlock said cheerfully.

John sighed; his anger ebbed away a little. "Sherlock, I'm sure you can make them want to learn science. But I need them to be in a safe environment. They won't let me stay when word gets out that pupils here are examining dead bodies. I'm happy that you are trying to engage them. But please think before you march in here with all kinds of gruesome stories. Many of them have enough of those things to deal with as it is." He sat down on one of the front row desks with his palms leaning on it on either side.

"I think I understand. What kind of things do they have to deal with exactly?" Sherlock was curious to know.

"You don't know?" John's eyebrows rose "Haven't you deduced the life of every single one of your pupils by now?"

"I try not to do that. I don't care to know what they do outside of the classroom. It's irrelevant to me teaching them things." Sherlock huffed.

"It is absolutely relevant Sherlock! The school needs to support them, not just educationally, but personally. If somebody's parents are getting a divorce we need to know. If they are bullied we need to know. If they are ill we need to know. If they are in any way unsafe we should know. This way we can make them at least feel safe when they are here, and possibly help them get through with whatever they need to get through if their parents can't provide that for them."

"Don't be ridiculous, John. This is a school, not an orphanage! I am not a social worker nor a substitute for a parent!"

John was getting agitated again. "Of course you aren't! I wouldn't expect that of you. But if you see or hear things that seem wrong or alarming for a teenager, or if their behaviour changes suddenly, or if their grades go down, we should try to find out why. And they should feel safe enough to trust us with the truth. Because if something is wrong, and they can't speak about it at home and we ignore the signs, they are very much alone. And they are too young to sort things out themselves, even though some of them try."

"You are very sentimental about this, are you?" Sherlock said as he took his shoes off the desk.

"Yes, Sherlock I am. Because I have met enough people who have been failed by everyone around them, and it never ends very well for these people. Especially when you're young it can make such a difference whether people listen to you or not." He said this as he watched Sherlock make the connection to himself and smirk.

John sighed. "A girl died, alright. She jumped off Waterloo Bridge, just a month after I started working here. She'd been through a lot of abuse at home, and she had apparently trusted nobody at school enough to tell. Nobody had cared enough to ask, even when her grades had started slipping and she often didn't show up for classes. They punished her many times, but never asked what was going on at home. They just assumed she was skipping class to be with a boy or something, until they found her body in the Thames. I know the school is not completely responsible for what happens to their pupils, but we are at least partly responsible, and we can actually play a big role in getting appropriate help if necessary. They can't learn much if they have too many things to worry about."

They sat quietly for a while. John was wondering if his little speech had affected Sherlock at all. At least the man looked a little bit more thoughtful now, hands steepled against his chin and looking ahead.

"So, do you know what is going on with them right now?" Sherlock asked.

"Some of them, yes. Although I'm sure there are quite a few who stay silent, or whose parents don't inform us. But I'm not telling you anything. I know you love the sound of your own voice, but try to listen to them for a bit. You will find out what interests them, and maybe they won't turn out to be as unintelligent as you assume. Your deductions might help you enjoy teaching them, maybe even respect them."

"Well John, I didn't know you cared about them so much. But I'm starting to understand why you are such a popular figure here." He looked thoughtful. "I guess I can adjust my lesson plans to be more age appropriate."

"You have lesson plans?"

"They are in my head. But hey are plans, for lessons. So yes."

John smiled at him and got up. "Great, make sure you also test them regularly. We want to know if they are remembering anything, and if there are any up- or downward trends. If things go well, you might get to take over some of Mary's biology classes."

"Would that involve me giving sex ed? Because I don't think-…"

John chuckled at the thought and Sherlock's worried expression. "I see your point. Maybe Mary could step in for that… I'll see you tomorrow then." And he left.

Sherlock remained thoughtful. He hadn't considered the function of a school to be more than teaching. He didn't remember anyone at school ever asking him how he was doing when he was a pupil. He also couldn't imagine that any pupil would ever want to talk about personal things with a teacher, but decided to be more observant from now on.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Please review!  
**


	3. Distraction

**Trigger warning: mention of drug use.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BCC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Distraction**

Sherlock found that he didn't really mind teaching. He got through the first two weeks of classes without any major problems. He stuck loosely to the curriculum, with some adaptations and extra examples, which he retrieved from the collection of case files he kept at home. He did separate the extreme gore from the photo's he showed in class. The pupils had been relatively well behaved and attentive. They seemed to understand that telling their parents about the crime scenes they examined at school could put a stop to the fun, so John had only received one or two phone calls.

No, it was not the teaching that bothered him.

It was the complete silence he received from Lestrade. The knowledge that he might have screwed up definitely this time. The idea that he might not be a consulting detective ever again. He had let his arrogance become a weakness, and it had gotten in the way of his rational thinking. He had acted in such an uncalculated way that several other people had paid the price. He had been so eager to get to the mysterious Moriarty, so overconfident, and so out of control, that he basically provided the professor with some extra victims on the way. Sherlock Holmes felt extremely frustrated, and guilty.

He had started to feel rather depressed as the weeks of summer progressed and there had been nothing to do. John's school provided him with a temporary distraction now, but this elementary level science was not enough to get him through the evenings and the weekends.

* * *

The trouble in his head had started when John and Mary got married, about a year after they'd met at St Francis. John moved out of the flat, and Sherlock did not want anyone else to fill the empty space he left behind. Sherlock was happy for John, and got on well with Mary, but they had their own life now. Sherlock started to feel lonely. He had been alone before meeting John, but it hadn't bothered him as much then.

Of course he didn't tell John this. It would only make things awkward and it would come across as if Sherlock wanted his friend for himself. He knew how much John loved Mary and had no illusion or wish that he could separate them. So, Sherlock continued living alone, and slowly slipped down a corridor in his mind that led him to dark places. The need to eat seemed irrelevant, the need to sleep even more so. He kept chasing, hunting, on a constant high of adrenaline until he felt his body give way to exhaustion. This happened a couple of times, until the dark voice in his head whispered to him a simple solution.

It took another two months for him to actually cave, but when he did there seemed to be no turning back. Cocaine gave him the ability to go on longer and work faster. It fueled his body for the chase, but it also fueled his arrogance, his manipulative tendency, and his carelessness for others. He was able to hide it from John and Lestrade, and kept on going.

One night he set out alone to an address in east London, not wanting to wait for Lestrade to get a warrant. He knew this was the place. And he knew they didn't have much time before Moriarty had his men clean out the house and all traces would be removed. He just wanted to know who this man was. He just wanted to know who he was up against. And he desperately wanted to show that he could beat him. When Sherlock walked into the house he immediately got stabbed in the arm with a needle, and passed out within seconds, not seeing anyone. Unfortunately, someone at the office had noticed him leave and Greg had no choice but to go after him. The officers walked into an ambush and three of them got hit, one of them in the head.

When they found him, Sherlock had been brought to the hospital, where they found many more chemicals in his blood than couldn't really care that much at first, but slowly realised the implications of his actions as people came to see him.

Obviously Mycroft was livid and had the flat searched where they found a variety of narcotics that had not even been hidden very well. His brother had yelled at him standing beside his hospital bed, the only time Sherlock had seen him actually lose it. Lestrade visited him and told him that he wished that the self-destructive game Sherlock was playing had been his own death instead of that of one of his officers, and that he would never let him anywhere near an investigation ever again. Both his brother and Lestrade had only shown anger, but Sherlock knew that they were also incredibly hurt and disappointed in him.

John had been his usual caring self. He was angry, but even more worried about his apparently not so brilliant and dangerously thin friend, and had slept in a chair in his room until Sherlock regained consciousness. Of course he'd asked him why he did it, why he didn't tell him, and what was bothering him to become so self-destructive. Sherlock did not answer them directly but promised John he'd stay away from drugs, and he meant it.

But when he was alone in 221B, playing the violin, reading, experimenting, and attempting not to smoke he could feel the pull of the demons in his head. Tempting him, teasing him. He'd tried everything. He had even brought home a stranger a few times, but the distraction of sex never lasted for more than a couple of hours (of course there was also the problem of getting them _out_ of the flat again).

* * *

This weekend he had done a couple of experiments on some human eyeballs (thankfully Molly hadn't cut him off), prepared the practical examples he needed for his classes the coming week, and made corrections to the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica. And he was bored. Extremely bored.

It was Sunday afternoon and he had just opened the windows to let some smoke clear out of the apartment (eyeballs on fire). The warm summer breeze drifted inside. Disappointed with the results of the experiment he dragged himself to the living room and sat down in his armchair, back straight, muscles tense, looking stoically ahead but desperately trying to fight the urge to scream. He scratched his forearm, exposed by the rolled op sleeve of his silk black shirt. His eyes drifted to the experiment, to the stairs that lead to what was formerly John's room, to the refrigerator, which contained only some milk and several body parts, to the bottle of disinfectant on the kitchen table.

Something switched in his brain and suddenly he'd given in. Mrs Hudson's lock had been easy to pick and he'd known exactly where to look.

* * *

The bottle of whiskey he had found in her apartment had been expensive and sealed. Now it was half empty beside him as he was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against his armchair. He was not sorry at all.

The living room was blurry around him. _Very intresting… experiment. Blurry vision, light head headed, hhhheavy limbs, no fffeelings at all…. should write this down _

After several attempts he managed to get up and stumbled into the kitchen, grasping the bottle loosely in his hand. He had sworn he left the notebook on the table. After stumbling around for about 10 minutes, bumping into kitchen cabinets, he gave up and sat down at the table. The drink had tasted horrible when he took his first shot, but now tasted rather nice. His mind was nice and quiet, and he happily pored himself another in a mug he couldn't remember for what experiment it had served.

He wouldn't be able to remember the rest of the night.

* * *

**Next chapter: A hate crime at school leaves one pupil in hospital, one in shock, and Sherlock mad as hell.**


	4. Peter

**Trigger warning: physical violence and homophobia.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BCC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Peter**

"Sweetheart, I will drive you to school myself if I have to, but you are going."

Peter's mother looked at him concernedly. He had hardly touched his breakfast and felt his throat clench at the thought of school. He'd do anything not to go to school today. The bullying had started again almost immediately during the first week. Last year had been hell, with boys like Eric yelling obscenities at him every day, following him everywhere he went. Once they had put a gay magazine in his locker, which had fallen out when he opened it, making known to the entire school something he had only just started to figure out himself.

This year something had changed. The boys in his class had grown 5 inches over the summer, and were constantly talking about girls. Their behaviour towards him had become more aggressive. They pushed him in the corridors, sneaked up on him to shout in his ears, and threatened to beat him up after school. He was certain that one of these days they would.

He had told his mother some of the things that had happened last year, and she had been horrified that her little boy was being bullied. Mr Watson had been called and he had talked to the boys in question. The name-calling had stopped for about three weeks and then slowly picked up again. He had seen the hurt in his mother's eyes when he told her the first time, and he decided never to do that to her again, so he didn't tell anyone.

He knew she suspected it; when he stayed so silent, hardly ate, had a bad temper or made up excuses to stay at home. She asked him if he was alright, but he could hear in her voice that she wished for him to say that he was. He knew she loved him no matter what his sexuality was, and that she would try to keep him safe. But he also knew she was terrified. Terrified of what the neighbours might think, terrified what would happen to him, and terrified of having to stand up for him. So he didn't say anything.

* * *

Peter refused the ride to school and walked by himself. Sometimes Olivia would join him, because they lived in the same street, but she had other friends like Rose and Anthony who offered much more cheerful company.

He looked at her house, a small building from which the paint was starting to peel, and the lawn desperately needed mowing, but it was quiet inside. Olivia was always friendly to him. When he got called names at school she'd even tried to tell the boys off a few times. Her presence had helped a bit last year, but these days it didn't matter if she was there or not. He continued to school by himself.

Just before he got to the safety of the building, he heard a bicycle behind him. He turned around, thinking it might be Olivia, but it was Eric Walker. Eric leaned forward on his bike and grinned at him.

"Time for some fun with Garrison!", he yelled at his mates, who were right behind him.

Within seconds, Peter found himself surrounded by 5 boys, almost all taller and stronger than him, throwing insults at him. He froze and looked and the ground, not knowing what to do. Eric, circling around them on his bike, ordered his friends to bring Peter behind the storage shed. Peter felt them grab him by the shoulders and drag him forward.

Eric dropped his bike and continued giving commands. He was like a small manic dictator who had found a black sheep. Within minutes, all Peter's books were strewn on the grass behind the shed. They shouted obscenities in his face and asked him if he got hard watching them in the changing room after gym class.

When Peter refused to show any sign of being upset, one of them got angry and punched him in the eye. He couldn't help the tears starting to stream down his face then. This got Eric excited and he punched him in the ribs hard, knocking the air out of him. When the toppled over and fell on the ground several shoes started kicking him, and they felt like hammers on his flesh. A couple of kicks hit his head. Peter had never felt such pain in his life, and finally started pleading for them to stop.

Then he heard someone yell and the kicking stopped.

Peter opened his eyes to see Olivia standing a couple of meters away, looking at him with a horrified expression.

"Come to rescue him then, Olive?" Eric said, grinning.

"Stop it, you're hurting him!" she yelled as she ran towards Peter. Two of the boys grabbed her but she fought back, kicking and punching around her, until she felt a sharp pain in her head and fell onto her knees. One of them had punched her and cut her brow.

"You won't get away with this!" she cried. The boys had a proper hold of her now and she couldn't move.

"Shut up, bitch!" yelled Eric "We'll show you what we will do to you next time you try to fight us. Pin him down!"

Two of them held Olivia in place against the wall. The other two held Peter against the ground. Eric told them to stretch one of his arms out, and got back on his bicycle. Laughing, he rode over Peter's arm.

Peter screamed as he felt something snap in his arm, but didn't have the strength to fight. He heard their voices around and above him.

He heard Olivia cry and the boy's laugh.

"Wait! I will do his stomach next!" Eric's manic voice echoed in his head…

* * *

Sherlock got out of the cab in front of the school gates. He was late and hung-over so had decided against walking the three miles from his house.

The aspirin was doing its job relatively well, but he still felt an ache in his body and the urge to curl up in a corner somewhere. He was absolutely not looking forward to spending the day in a room with overactive adolescents, but he did realise that this was not a job he could do only when he felt like it, so he prepared himself for a painful day.

He walked across the schoolyard and snapped out of his sleepy thoughts when he heard sounds. They were very clear sounds of physical pain mixed with manic laughter. It sent a shiver down his spine and he fell into a run towards the shed. What he saw when he came around the corner immediately made him forget his own self-inflicted physical discomfort. He assessed the situation.

Peter was being held down to the ground and was screaming hysterically. He was bleeding from his face and his body was covered in dust and red marks.

Olivia was sat on her knees and held down by her arms and hair. Tears streamed down her face and mixed with blood from her forehead. No sign of severe injuries.

Eric was on his bike coming towards Peter, yelling like a hooligan.

It took Sherlock one second to jump into action.

Olivia felt the wooden shed shake as Eric's body was rammed into it.

The two boys immediately released her and she scrambled up. Next to her, the tall dark figure of Mr Holmes pinned Eric to the wall. Olivia couldn't move, only stare at the raging man, shocked by the sudden turn of events.

"I'm a dangerous man Mr Walker. And you've just made me _very_ angry." Sherlock growled, his face about two inches from Eric's. He continued to say things to Eric but it was too soft for Olivia to make out. She turned to look at Peter, who lay abandoned on the grass. She quickly knelt beside him too see if he was bleeding anywhere severe. He didn't seem to be, but he was only half conscious and she started panicking. She knew that people could bleed internally, or die from swelling in the brain.

Suddenly Mr Holmes was kneeling beside Peter as well, checking his pulse and his breathing. "Peter, can you hear me?" no response.

Then he looked intently at Olivia. He looked like he wanted to say something but then looked around. To their surprise, Billy was still there, staring wide-eyed at Peter.

"Billy!" Mr Holmes barked at him "Go and find Mr Watson, and tell him to call an ambulance. NOW!"

For a moment Billy stood frozen on the spot, staring at the still boy on the ground. But then he turned and ran towards the school.

Olivia watched as he entered the building and then turned back towards her friend, who was now completely unconscious.

"They kicked him in the head", she told him and he could see she was panicking.

"It will be alright. They're on their way. Mr Watson's a doctor." Sherlock said calmly.

She looked at him as if she didn't understand what he was saying, but nodded.

It took only two minutes before Sherlock saw the familiar figure of John exit the school and run towards them, with Mary in his stride, and he felt a little relieved. When they reached them they took over and began checking Peter's vitals.

Sherlock leaned back and watched John's calm trained movements. He knew John must be extremely worried, but was in auto-mode right now and did exactly what had to be done. Then Sherlock remembered to check on the girl. Olivia was standing at Peter's feet now, and seemed to be in shock. He stood up and held her by the shoulders, turning her away from her friend. He felt her body trembling.

"Olivia, he will be alright", he said, hoping to get through to her. She looked up at him and he saw that she desperately wanted to believe him. The sight of Peter was terrible though, and he could understand that she didn't entirely believe him.

Then they heard the ambulance arrive and Sherlock gently pushed Olivia so that they would not be in the way of the medics. They watched how Peter was lifted onto a stretcher and into the vehicle.

Suddenly Sherlock felt Olivia grasp his hand tightly. She was looking at the ambulance intently. He wasn't sure if he should have let her stay to watch but it was too late now. He felt her shiver and was prompted by his own knowledge of emergencies. She would let go of his hand long enough to let him put his jacket on her. The warmth of the fabric brought Olivia back to reality a bit and when she thought about what had actually happened during the past 30 minutes she felt the tears come again. At that moment she didn't care that the hand she was grasping belonged to someone she hardly knew, his calmness steadied her.

John had climbed into the back of the ambulance with Peter. As it drove away, Mary walked towards them, assessing the state of Olivia. She had a small cut and a bruise above her brow, her knees were chafed and her summer dress was dirty. She was crying and looked afraid, gripping Sherlock's hand tightly.

"Olivia, are you alright?" Mary asked, touching her lightly on the shoulder.

She got a quick nod in return although the girl did not look her in the eye.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else aside from your head?"

At this point Sherlock felt stupid for not thinking about that. He was immensely relieved when her head gave a hesitant shake.

"Do you want to come inside? We'll take a look at that cut", Mary said.

Olivia nodded, but did not start walking or let go of Sherlock, so he held her hand all the way to Mary's exam room.

"John will call Peter's parents from the hospital. I told him we would call Olivia's father. Will you do that Sherlock? Then I can take care of this young lady."

Sherlock left them and called Olivia's father from John's office.

* * *

When the parent arrived he basically stormed into Mary's office, looking very concerned. Mr Edwards hugged his daughter, -who had thankfully stopped crying- and Sherlock detected the faint smell of alcohol. Then he realised it could possibly be his own breath that he smelled, and was too tired to investigate further.

"Have you told them who did this to you dear? They should be shot if you ask me!" Mr Edwards said as he took the unfamiliar jacket off his daughter and put it on a chair.

"We know exactly who did this Mr Edwards. But we will need Olivia to tell us what happened as well." Sherlock explained

"But not right now", Mary cut in "Take your daughter home. She can stay at home tomorrow of she wants, to recover for a bit. We will arrange a meeting with Mr Watson later this week." Mary said kindly

Mr Edwards nodded, thanked them, and left quickly with his daughter pressed tightly against his side.

Sherlock sat with his elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes with his palms. His headache had come back with force.

"Tell John to call me at home, will you Mary? He has to expel these kids with immediate effect."

Then he got up and left.

* * *

John spent the morning in the hospital making sure Peter would be alright. Then he went to St Francis to find the boys responsible and called their parents to com and pick them up. The day went by in a blur and before he knew it it was 5 pm and Mary said she was going home, asking him if he'd remembered to call Sherlock, which he hadn't. John decided he needed some air and walked all the way to Baker street, where hadn't been in a while.

"Sherlock?" John called, while he walked up the stairs to 221B and pushed the door open.

"I thought I'd-…" he shut up when he observed the state of Sherlock's living room.


	5. Breaking Protocol

**Chapter 5: Protocol**

_"I thought I'd-…" he gasped when he observed the state of Sherlock's living room._

It was an absolute mess. Not the normal Sherlock mess of cluttering books and experiments, although they were still there. There was another layer of messiness of someone who had clearly stopped caring. There were everyday things like dirty mugs, old take-out containers, papers, and clothes -that John knew were not all Sherlock's- strewn all around and there was a strong smell of cigarettes and chemicals. John noticed the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.

Sherlock himself was lying on the sofa looking miserable. One arm was hanging towards the floor, the other across his face.

John silently cursed himself for not having visited his friend in over five weeks.

"Jesus Sherlock. I thought you were doing better than this. You were even putting on some weight."

Sherlock lifted his arm an inch from his face and peered at John through the gap that appeared.

"How d'you get in?"

"Mrs Hudson let me in. Hasn't she been in here once in a while?" John asked. He grabbed the Whiskey bottle and walked into the kitchen to empty it. Sherlock scowled at him.

"She refuses to clean."

"I can imagine why she would." John walked back across the room to open the windows.

"The smell in here Sherlock. What are you taking these days, besides cigarettes?"

"How is Peter doing?" Sherlock sat up and massaged his temples.

"Do not try to change the subject. As if you really care." John said angrily.

"Only some alcohol, and just to get through weekends. Don't worry, I am perfectly capable of moderating myself." Sherlock said, as images of that very morning floated through his mind. He had woken up in his own bathtub with a throbbing head, his shirt and pants unbuttoned and a painful cigarette burn on his arm. He had hardly any recollection of the previous evening.

"The state of the flat suggests otherwise. Look, Sherlock. If you're depressed, tell me. We can try to do something about that- whose is this, by the way?"

John held up a small piece of clothing consisting of some string and lacy fabric.

Sherlock frowned "Well, it's obviously not mine is it. And I don't think Mrs Hudson weirs things like that anymore." He couldn't resist adding that last bit just to see John cringe as the image flashed through his mind. He let the thong fall on the sofa next to Sherlock and sighed. He looked tired.

"Whatever you're up to over here, just please refrain from snorting or injecting things into your body. I can't babysit you all the time and Mycroft does not seem to be very vigilant these days. He wouldn't even have let you come this far if he knew."

"Mycroft doesn't care", Sherlock snapped as John picked up a stack of books from his armchair and sat down.

"Of course he does. He's just angry, like Lestrade. And they have every reason to be."

"Look, John, I am not depressed. Bored, yes, but not depressed. And I haven't used anything. Well, nothing with an "A" classification anyway. So don't worry, I just need some time." Sherlock found it irritating to have John investigate his mental state, but at the same time it was reassuring to know that he had one person who still cared.

"Well, I refuse to be worried about you constantly, so please let me know if you need help. And just to warn you; if I ever, ever, notice that you are high while you're around my pupils. I won't forgive you."

"Speaking of the pupils. How's Peter and have you expelled those little rats yet?"

"Peter is doing well under the circumstances. He has a concussion, a tare in his right upper arm muscle, some bruised ribs and severe bruising on his upper body and face, so it will mostly be a matter of rest. What I'm more worried about is the mental damage that was done. He seemed terrified when he woke up."

"I guess it could be traumatic for a teenager to experience a hate crime like that. Go on."

John swallowed and looked at the window for a moment. He couldn't stand the fact that such a thing had happened under his supervision.

"As for the perpetrators you mentioned. That will not be as simple of course. I can suspend them temporarily, but as much as I'd like to kick them out, I will have to follow protocol."

"Bullshit! This surely must be more than enough to get rid of them right away!" Sherlock exclaimed.

"I'm glad you care Sherlock. I'm guessing it will be enough for Eric, when we have statements from everybody involved, which will take time. But the decision is not mine alone. I will have to put it to the board of directors. They are reasonable people, so don't worry."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, John got up and left him in his mess.

Sherlock remained on the couch and looked at the state of the flat. He realised what it must have looked like to John. If a stranger had a look, they would guess there were at least 5 junkies living in here.

_Better tidy up a bit._

* * *

Sherlock had felt better after John's visit. He cleaned the flat, threw out everything that wasn't his, and ordered an actual dinner. He wrote a statement for John that he could use as evidence for the investigation of the day's incident. Then he had gone to bed early and actually slept continuously until 7 am.

The night's sleep gave him a boost of energy and he arrived at school early looking bright and smelling fresh. The air was still warm in late summer, so he didn't have to wear his coat yet. Sherlock was eager to gather the evidence from yesterday's crime, draw out some confessions, and see some people get expelled.

What he didn't expect was what actually happened, which was that no pupils would get expelled, but a teacher would be sacked.

* * *

When he arrived at John's office he could see through the window that Eric and his parents were already there. John had invited them early so that they would be able to come and go without a couple hundred pupils staring at them. John gestured he could come in. Eric's parents turned their heads as he entered.

"This is Sherlock Holmes, the teacher I told you about. He interrupted the boys yesterday. Sherlock, these are Mr and Mrs Walker." Sherlock nodded at them but they glared at him as if he was the devil himself. He sat down on a chair by the side of John's desk, facing the two adults and Eric, who just looked angrily at his feet.

John was as calm and diplomatic as the Queen.

"We've just been discussing yesterdays events. Up until now, Eric denies beating or kicking Peter or running him over with his bike."

"_And_ he's accusing you of assault!" Mr Walker added to Sherlock. "You hit him against a wall and punched him! He's got the bruise to prove it."

"And he grabbed my throat!" Eric whined, fake tears appearing in his eyes.

"I admit I held your son against the shed to prevent him from seriously harming another student, yes. If my actions have left a mark, he must have been struggling too hard." Sherlock explained with a stone face. "I did _not…_ grab his throat."

There was some arguing from Eric, but he could not prove his allegations, so John made a decision.

"Mr and Mrs Walker, thank you for coming in. I will have to collect statements from everyone else involved, and discuss this with the board. Until there is a decision, your son is suspended from this school. I do have to warn you that Eric's behaviour seems to be out of control and he is putting other pupils at risk, so be prepared for a negative outcome."

Mr and Mrs Walker were shocked to hear this and started arguing again, but John ushered them out the door.

Just after they'd left, Mr Burke came running into John's office.

"Alex, did you get my message? We had an early meeting with Eric and his parents", John said.

"I just heard this morning, sorry I'm late." Alexander Burke looked worried and a bit dishevelled from his hasty trip to school. He was a big man in his fifty's, balding and wearing glasses.

"Bloody mess isn't it? Just awful. Which other kids were involved?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sit down. I'll put up to speed before Billy and his parents arrive. Sherlock, I think it might be better if you don't sit in with the rest of the boys. They might be prepared to talk more if you're not there scowling at them." John said as he motioned Burke to sit down.

"Probably." Sherlock got up and John walked with him to into the waiting area. He leaned against the desk of his secretary, who wasn't in yet.

"You know, this is going to be a-…" John stopped when he saw Olivia shuffle in the hallway. She looked unsure whether to come in.

"Miss Edwards! I didn't think you would be in today. Didn't Mary tell you stay home and rest for a bit?"

Olivia didn't know what to say. "I… I just- I wanted to see my friends", she said, which wasn't a lie.

Then she noticed Mr Burke through the office window and Sherlock could see a slight panic in her eyes.

"We are having some chats with the boys who were involved yesterday, so maybe you want to go to your classroom? What do you start with today? Art?" John asked.

Olivia thought about Mr Burke and figured she should say something. She looked up at the two men and swallowed, not knowing how to start. Mr Watson was leaning against the desk and Mr Holmes stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to speak. They suddenly seemed quite intimidating.

"Yes, well… could I just ask whether-…" She started but was interrupted by Mr Watson.

"If you want to have a chat, we could do that later Olivia. I am a bit busy at the moment. Mr Burke is waiting for me."

Olivia frowned but nodded.

"Alright, I'll see you later, then. Sherlock, later." He said and went into his office and closed he door.

Olivia looked at Mr Holmes, who was staring at her in a rather unpleasantly piercing way. She decided to turn and walk out before her cheeks turned red.

* * *

During a free period, Sherlock went to John's office to see how the meetings had gone. Not great as it turned out. The boys admitted to hitting Peter but only because Peter had started the fight, they said. None of them dared to say that Billy was the one driving over the boy's arm. They also didn't refute Billy's allegation against Sherlock, except for Billy Mitchell. All of them had been suspended temporarily. John said he would take Olivia's statement tomorrow. He gave Sherlock copies of the statements he collected so far and said he was unsure where it would lead.

The day had started so well, and Sherlock had been certain it was just a matter of days before they got Eric expelled. Now he was sitting in his empty classroom bristling with anger as he read through page after page of excuses and downright lies. He sat there with one elbow on the desk with his hand in his hair, the other resting on his knee.

"Oh for _fuck sake!_" he said loudly, just as he heard the door creak open.

He looked up and saw Olivia standing in the doorway, looking surprised at such an outburst of foul language from her teacher.

"Excuse me, Miss Edwards. I didn't realise you were here." He closed the folder holding the statements. John's words about responsibility for his pupils shot through his mind, and he decided maybe this was the moment to start being more observational.

He looked at her properly as she approached him and let his mind deduce; _14 years old, 4.83 feet, lost a parent, her mother obviously, no pets, intelligence slightly above average, does her own laundry, trouble sleeping, but somehow less tired than this morning…_

He stopped himself when she spoke. "Has Mr Watson finished all the meetings?"

"For today he has. He would like to see you tomorrow. He will call your father about that."

"I don't know if he can come." She said while she stopped beside Sherlock's desk. "Did Mr Burke attend the meetings?" She continued. Her eyes looked worried and focused momentarily on the file in front of him.

"Only Eric's and Billy's. He's their mentor. Why?" Sherlock questioned as he sat up straight. He became more and more aware that this girl had something important to say.

Olivia took a deep, slightly shaky, breath. Not sure how to start, standing there, confidence dissolving. She had no idea how Mr Holmes would react.

"I knew Peter was being bullied," She said softly "and I didn't help him." The second part of that sentence came out squeaky through her clenched throat.

Sherlock watched her and panicked a little when he saw tears brim her eyes. He got up and grabbed a chair that was standing underneath the blackboard and set it down at the corner of his desk next to him.

"Tell me." He said in the calmest voice he could manage.

She sat down. Her voice came back so she continued and Sherlock listened.

"Peter was being bullied last year. I walk to school with him sometimes so I know that they shouted at him and teased him because he's gay. It stopped for a while after Mr Watson talked to them, but that didn't last very long. After the holidays it was much worse. They were following him, pushing him, and telling him they were going to beat him u-up." Her voice cracked and the tears started rolling down her cheeks as she looked down at her knees.

Sherlock didn't know what do to comfort her, so he just said "Go on."

Olivia drew another hitched breath. "T-two weeks ago he- he told me he was a-a-afraid of them. That he knew they were s-serious… but that he didn't want to tell a-anyone. So, I told Mr Burke, because he is my mentor and Eric's and I thought- I thought that he would do something." Her questioning eyes moved up to Sherlock's face, which was frowning at her words.

"That sounds like a reasonable expectation," he said encouragingly and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

"But he told me that Peter was not his pupil, that Mr Watson had already dealt with this issue before the holidays, and that if Peter was scared he should go and talk to his own mentor, Ms Donovan."

"So he did nothing?" Mr Holmes sat back in his chair with his elbows on the armrests, hands steepled with his fingertips touching his lips. She saw his deep blue eyes worry. They focused on her again when she spoke.

"No! He just said it was not h-his problem, or my problem, and… that it would be better for me to stay away from people who are getting bullied, because then I might get bullied as well." Sherlock knew she was not lying. He could hear the anger in her voice and felt his own fists clench at the thought that if he had been present at this conversation he would have punched this man. But he focused his attention to the girl in front of him, who was looking miserable.

"Did you tell anyone else?" he asked, and regretted this question immediately.

Her eyes welled up again and she started sobbing now.

"No! I didn't tell anyone else because th-the o-only one I wanted to tell was Mr W-Watson, and M-mr Burke told me not to bother h-him with this because he already knew about Peter. I-I know Mr Watson is friends with Mr Burke be-cause they're always h-having lunch togetherandIthought i-it would annoy him. So I didn't! And now I know it was stupid! Because now Peter is in hospital," she cried.

Sherlock fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it out to her. She took it and dried her eyes and nose. Then she felt his warm hands take hold of the shaking one in her lap. When she looked up she saw that he had leant forward and was looking at her. The few lines in his face told her he was seriously concerned.

Sherlock didn't know how to do this, but he tried.

"Olivia, it seems to me like you did the right thing and it is Mr Burke who's the stupid one here. You tried to help your friend, which is very admirable, but there is only so much you could do."

She was silent, not fully agreeing with him but not knowing how to explain how responsible she felt.

"I think Mr Watson would like to know about this. Shall we go and talk to him?" Sherlock said this in his friendliest voice, but half of his brain was furiously thinking about how to punish Alex slowly and painfully.

Olivia sniffed. "Don't you think Mr Watson is busy? He might not like to hear this. Maybe its better if I tell him tomorrow at the meeting."

"Absolutely not. He will make time for this. And I cannot imagine him ever being angry with you. Come on, if we wait longer it will be lunchtime and I prefer not to elbow my way to his office." With that he stood up and Olivia had no choice but to follow him.

* * *

John was sitting at his desk rubbing his eyes while he tried to put something on paper for the board of directors. Something had gone wrong at his school, very wrong. He didn't understand why nobody had seen this coming. Peter had been at school every day, and Sally hadn't noticed anything. _Somebody_ should have seen warning signs. He felt awful that Peter hadn't trusted anyone to tell that he was being harassed. He was wondering if any of his efforts from the past two years had made a difference, when he heard his secretary's slightly annoying voice.

"Mr Watson is busy and will only book an appointment if you wish to see him." Ms Stevenson told Sherlock sternly.

"It's _urgent_." Sherlock said through clenched teeth, not wanting to be rude when there was a trembling 14 year old at his side.

Ms Stevenson looked up and her eyes went to the clearly very upset girl. Then they returned to her desk full of papers.

"I can't let you in. Mr Watson has important things to take care of. You can leave a message if you want to."

"You can tell Mr Watson to take his head out of his-", Sherlock cut off his sentence when John's door opened and his head appeared.

"Out of my what?" He asked amused, but then noticed Olivia by Sherlock's side. "No, don't finish that sentence."

"Miss Edwards needs some of your time. Now." Sherlock said with a meaningful look. His left hand was on Olivia's shoulder. She was trembling a little and her eyes were red from crying. Her breath hitched in her chest.

"Oh dear", John said and his face softened with concern. "Of course, come in. Could you bring us some tea Ms Stevenson?" he asked as he opened the door properly. Sherlock shot a deadly stare at John's secretary before he walked in, gently pushing Olivia in front of him.

"Come and sit on the couch." John had a couch and some chairs around a coffee table in the corner of his office, which he used for long meetings or when he wanted people to feel at ease.

He sat next to Olivia on the couch and Sherlock took a seat in a chair on her other side. John turned to her. "Do you want to tell me what is upsetting you? I can at least tell you that Peter is going to be okay. They will be keeping him in the hospital for a couple of days as a precaution, but he will be fine."

This did not have the intended soothing effect he hoped for, and Olivia started sobbing again. She buried her face in her hands. John scooted over to her a little and stroked his hand over her back in a soothing manner.

"Do you think Mr Holmes can tell me what's wrong?" She nodded without looking up. John looked at Sherlock while kept rubbing her back. Sherlock suddenly didn't understand why he and Mary had no children yet.

Sherlock told him everything Olivia had said, during which some of his own anger seemed to transfer to John. They hardly noticed the tea tray appear on the table in front of them. John actually let out a "Jesus", when Sherlock quoted Mr Burke's words exactly like he had heard them from Olivia.

Then Olivia turned to John. "I ne-needed to tell some-one because y-you always tell us about what t-todo when there's bullying. But I-I didn't tell the r-right person and they got to Peter. AndI cahan't e-even visithim in the hospital b-because my dad won't let me go." The last couple of words were muttered into John's shirt as he put his arm around her shoulders in a hug.

Sherlock watched as John sighed deeply and tried to soothe the girl in his arms. He was feeling many things at the same time. He was happy he had taken Olivia to John because he seemed to know exactly what to do, he was furious with Burke for screwing things up so badly, he felt pity for Olivia for feeling so guilty for something she didn't do, and there was a nagging feeling of concern in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite place. In other words, a completely new experience for Sherlock to have so many feelings about people he hardly knew. _John must feel like this everyday. He should be exhausted._

John gently pushed Olivia back and sat up a little bit so he could see her face. He sighed again with a furrowed brow.

"What Mr Burke said and did was against all guidelines for this school and also morally wrong. He knowingly let a pupil remain in a harmful situation and gave you some very stupid advice. I don't want you to think that you did anything wrong. I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could come to me, but I'm proud of you for telling Mr Holmes." This seemed to ease Olivia's mind a little and she stopped crying.

"I will have to talk to Mr Burke about this", he said carefully and she looked up at him, alarmed. "What will you tell him?" she asked.

"I don't know yet", John said. He did know, but did not want to swear in front of her.

"Will he still be my mentor? He won't want to cast me in the school play anymore will he?"

John eyebrows raised "Of course we will find another mentor for you, until we have, you can always come to me, or Mr Holmes of course" his eyes flickered towards Sherlock, who was surprised to notice that this responsibility didn't bother him at all. "And honestly, I'm not sure Mr Burke is the right person to direct the play", John said mischievously.

"But he's teaches theatre!"

"I know, don't tell anyone yet"

She wiped her eyes again and actually smiled a little bit now. John pulled her just a bit closer again and spoke softly. "Do you want to take a rest in room 221?" she nodded. "Good, I'll give you the key." He stood up and went to his desk. He came back and handed it to her.

"There you go. Will you be all right by yourself?"

She nodded.

"Good. I will come and check on you later, after I talk to some people."

He went to the door to let her out. When she stood up she looked back at Sherlock "Thank you Mr Holmes", she said softly. Sherlock gave her a nod and an almost-smile.

When John closed the door again he leaned against it heavily. "God DAMNIT! What the fuck did he think he was doing! If he does not have some miraculous explanation for this I will fire him on the fucking spot. I have never heard Olivia Edwards tell a lie Sherlock, and I sure don't believe she would falsely accuse him of this."

"She's telling the truth John."

John opened the door again and asked Ms Stevenson to find Mr Burke and bring him to his office.

"What's room 221?" Sherlock asked from his chair as John walked back in. His eyes were narrowed.

"You'll find out soon enough. I let several students use it", John smiled a little at Sherlock's annoyed face for not knowing something.

Sherlock got up to leave.

"Maybe its best if you stay actually. Might need a witness…"

* * *

"Olivia."

Olivia slowly woke up from a deep sleep and opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep almost immediately, so relieved that she had gotten everything off her chest and to have a good cry. Mr Watson always made it easy for her to open up.

Now he was standing over her with a tender smile on his face.

"You should wake up now. Classes are over and I'm sure your father wants you to come home."

She sat up on the couch and blinked a couple of times to focus. Behind Mr Watson stood Rose with a worried look in her eyes.

Rose hadn't seen Olivia since before the incident, and had walked into John's office asking where she was. John hadn't let her go to 221 right then, but decided to take her with him after classes.

Rose sat down next to Olivia and hugged her tightly. "Alright Liv?"

Olivia nodded and smiled; she felt much better and was glad to see her friend again.

Rose was happy to see that her best friend was fine and decided she could be cheerful. "John fired Burke!" she said excitedly.

"Its Mr Watson, Rose", John corrected her but sounded amused.

Olivia's eyes grew big as she looked at the smiling man. "Really? Because of what I said?"

"No, because of what _he_ said. And for failing to protect a student." He sat down on the coffee table in front of the girls and looked serious again.

"Olivia, tomorrow I want you to come in so we can write down everything you've told me, and anything you would like to add. I tried to phone your father this afternoon, but he didn't pick up, so could you give him this letter when you get home? He might want to be there." He handed her an envelope.

Olivia's face fell, thinking about what she would say the next day if she showed up alone. "I will."

"Good, good. Come on then ladies. Time to go. Rose will walk you home."

* * *

**Please let me know what you think!**


	6. Olivia

**Thanks to the people who have favourited, followed, and reviewed this story so far! You are awesome!**

**This chapter explores the tragedy that is Olivia's private life. TW: alcohol abuse, mentions of violence.  
**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Olivia**

"Olivia!"

Olivia stopped in her stride and looked around. Anthony was running towards her from a side street, excited to see her for the first time after he'd heard what happened to Peter. He skidded to a stop just in front of her and she felt butterflies in her stomach.

He looked absolutely stunning. A tall young man, a bit older than the rest of the class because he'd failed too many classes the year after his father died. His skin was still tanned from the summer, his dark hair was always a mess and he was usually smiling. He wore his school uniform in a casual way, usually on the edge of what was acceptable to Mr Watson; his shirt untucked, two buttons undone, and his tie loose around his neck. He was a little out of breath and his brown eyes were sparkling.

"How are you? I tried to find you yesterday but Mr Watson said you were sleeping."

Olivia was quite glad Mr Watson hadn't brought Anthony with him as well as Rose to wake her yesterday. She'd probably looked a mess.

"I know. Somehow I sleep better at school than at home", she laughed and he grinned at her. They continued walking towards the school.

"I heard Burke got fired. I do hope the school play is still on. He would have given you the lead you know."

"I don't think so. I don't think he'd want me to be in it at all. I sort of got him fired."

He gaped at her. "No Way!"

She looked at him and smiled at his expression. "He was ignoring Eric's bullying."

She startled as Anthony put a hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek softly.

"Well done", he said and she blushed.

The rest of the way to school she let him hold her hand.

* * *

She'd almost forgotten what she was meant to do during the first period until they walked through the door. She said goodbye to Anthony and walked towards Mr Watson's office. Her nerves started rising a little. Ms Stevenson glared at her but told her to go through immediately, so she quietly opened the door.

Mr Watson greeted her from behind his desk and told her to take a seat. He looked tired, but gave her a welcoming smile.

"Did your father not want to join us?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

"He is a bit preoccupied," she replied quickly.

"Ah, did he go back to work then?"

"No." her voice had risen a bit. When he kept looking at her expectantly she continued "He is eh… the doctor said he might be depressed."

John looked worried. "Is he at home now?"

She nodded "He's very tired. But it will be fine. He is taking medication now. He says he trusts you enough to handle it." It all came out a bit hurried.

It wasn't a lie; she knew she wouldn't be able to lie to Mr Watson if he questioned her, so she'd decided to tell half the story.

* * *

The full story was that her dad was still in bed and passed out on booze from the night before.

When Rose had dropped her off at home he had been cooking her dinner, singing along loudly to some rock music on the radio. He was in a great mood, but she saw his eyes were foggy. He had probably been drinking since noon, had a nap, and woken up feeling much better, only to grab another beer to quench his thirst. He got trough the day with ups and downs, either desperately trying to forget her mother, or at other times staring at her picture, smelling her clothes in the closet (which hang there exactly like they had before she died), or crying in bed.

He was very happy to see her and gave her a tight hug. He smelled like alcohol, sweat, and her mother's perfume, but she didn't comment. He asked about her day and she told him about Mr Burke. For some reason her eyes didn't even well up this time. He applauded her for her bravery and told her he was very proud.

She pretended to like the plate of lukewarm beans, overcooked rice and a burned burger that he served her.

Anything could tip him over from manic happiness to wallowing sadness, so she tiptoed her way around him when he was happy, and comforted him when he was sad. After dinner she washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen while he watched the news. When she was done she remembered the envelope from Mr Watson that was still in her bag.

She walked into the living room and handed it to him. "I have to give my statement tomorrow morning. You could come with me…" she said as he started reading.

On the one hand she really didn't want her father to come to school. He was in a terrible state and would probably not be sober in the morning. She didn't want people to know about his drinking. On the other hand she did want him there. She wanted him to make her feel protected. She longed for him to tell her what to do, to support her and to tell her she was doing alright. She was nearing adulthood and was more independent than many of her classmates, but still desperately needed the one parent she had left to act like one. However, most of the time she was the one taking care of him. The only rule he had given her was not to leave home except when it was completely necessary, like when she needed to go to school. Therefore she always declined invitations from her friends, which was terribly difficult, but she understood her father's fear.

While he read the letter she saw the energy slowly leave her father's body and her heart sank.

"Sweetheart I… you know its difficult for me to…" he sighed, not knowing how to explain.

"You came to school on Monday", she reminded him.

"I know. That was different. I was… my head was a bit clearer then. I will come to that play you were talking about. I promise," he said.

"I Just told you that there would not be a play. Mr Burke was fired today."

"Olivia, stop nagging! You are so smart; you will be fine by yourself. If you want I'll phone Mr Watson to hear how it went. Now please let me watch telly." He continued watching the screen, where a daily game show had started.

* * *

Olivia spent the rest of the evening in her room, catching up on the homework she'd missed. Tomorrow it would be Mr Holmes' class again, and she wanted to be prepared. Her appreciation for him had doubled because of everything he'd done for her since Monday. Besides, Mr Watson seemed to know him very well, which she considered a good sign.

She smiled as she remembered Lucy's remarks about him. Mr Holmes was handsome, mysterious, and extremely intelligent. He always looked so confident in his tailored suits, and his blue eyes felt like daggers when he was actually interested in you. With one look, he could make Olivia sit up straight and double check whether she was reading the right page, written everything down he'd said, and had truly answered the questions from the blackboard to the best of her ability. She'd noticed that even Rose paid attention to him. Most teachers had to repeat their instructions 5 times before the majority of the class even considered following them.

She had also noticed his graceful movements and wondered if he was gay. Rose said he was definitely bisexual, although she had guessed wrong before, and once told her that those labels were complete bullocks anyway.

Olivia had not really considered her sexuality that much. She knew she probably liked boys, but most of the time their immaturity disgusted her. Last year was a boy who tried to kiss her. It was her birthday and her parents had let her throw a party for her classmates at the weekend, with music. Her parents had stayed upstairs to let them have fun, but would be near if something had gone wrong.

Olivia liked dancing and had been doing so with Rose and Lucy, when Steve had come and danced with her. He was her classmates' cousin, who had brought him along and she didn't mind it. Later, when she was in the backyard to get some more lemonade from the shed, he tried to talk her into kissing him. She'd smelled his deodorant as he stood in front of her and said she didn't want to. She was backed up against the house and in a panic had closed her eyes. When he moved his head forward she turned her face away so his kiss landed in her neck. The feeling had sent bad shivers down her spine. Then she had pushed him away and ran inside. Lucy told her later that boys tend to do that a lot. Rose had yelled at Steve and told their classmate to take him and leave. Her parents hadn't heard anything due to the music, but she had talked about it with her mother the next day.

Her mother, Isabel, had always been extremely honest with her, and had explained to her many things about men, although mostly when to stay away from them. She was forever grateful to her mother for explaining many things, like how periods worked (she'd been completely alone when that had happened for the first time), how to measure her bra size (even though see hadn't yet needed one at the time), and basically how to take care of herself, whether it was hygiene, cooking, or money (she knew all the codes to their accounts, which she used only when necessary).

Sometimes she wondered if her mother had known, but that was impossible.

* * *

When Olivia was done with her homework she went downstairs to check up him. He was sleeping on the couch, with a glass in his hand and a half empty bottle of vodka on the coffee table. She turned off the telly and shook his shoulder to wake him. He grumbled something she couldn't understand and opened his eyes. They were red and didn't seem to register her presence.

"Come on dad. Time to go to bed."

It was difficult, but she helped him up and he leaned on her heavily as she led him to the stairs.

"Oliv- Oliviea", he mumbled "Iluvyou… Iluvyouandyr mther eqully." he moaned from the exertion of climbing the stairs.

"I know dad."

"Dontever.. doubthat…"

"Just one more step. That's it." He leaned against the wall as she opened his bedroom door and went to pull back the sheets before leading him to the bed.

When he was close enough she gently pushed him in the right direction and let him fall on the mattress. She took of his shoes and placed them neatly under the bed. When she moved to pull the sheets over him he grabbed her arm.

"Olivia… I'm s srry… Plse stay frabit." She saw the tears in his eyes and knew how alone he felt. So she sat down and let him pull her against him. His arms hugged her tightly and she felt his body shake. He kept apologizing for everything in his hoarse voice. She tried to say it was ok, but she didn't believe herself when she said it. Lying still she waited until his breathing calmed down and slow down to a steady rhythm. Then she pried herself out of his strong grip around her waist, got up and pulled the sheets over him. He never talked about these moments afterwards, and she wasn't even sure he remembered them.

She changed into her pyjamas in her own bedroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face at the sink and crawled into bed. It would take her ages to fall asleep. Sometimes she hated her father for sleeping so much while she was the one who was supposed to go to school and concentrate for 5 days a week. She needed sleep. Instead she lay awake at night, thinking about what it would be like if her mother was still alive. How she would sit on the edge of her bed and stroke her long hair, tell her stories about work, or about when she was younger and aspired to be a famous performer one day. Or sometimes, on bad nights, Olivia thought about how she would have said goodbye to her mother if she'd had the chance.

Isabel had been to a nightclub where she performed as a singer (something she did besides her day job at the coffee house). On her way home, two men had attempted to mug her. When she tried to fight them off with her pepper spray, one of them repeatedly stabbed her in the chest. She lost a lot of blood and died three days later from her wounds, without having regained consciousness.

Her father had been very calm from the moment they called from the hospital that night. He had taken Olivia to the hospital to see her, knowing that there was big chance his wife wouldn't survive. They'd stayed with her until she died. Olivia helped her father make arrangements for the funeral, which had been 5 days later.

He'd kept it together until most of the guest had left. Then he had literally broke down in a corner and hadn't stopped crying. They had had to carry him to bed.

Her father had stayed in bed for about a month, only getting up to eat or use the bathroom. Thankfully Olivia's uncle, who they normally only saw on birthdays and funerals, agreed to look after her. He took her to school and spoke to Mr Watson, explaining the situation. He cooked and helped with the rest of the household, and tried to coax her dad out of bed. The day her father did get up, her uncle went back to Bristol, and she had only seen him twice since.

It was difficult at first, but she got used to being by herself, doing groceries, cleaning regularly, making sure the bills were paid, doing her homework without being told to. She didn't feel like she couldn't handle it, but knew that if any kind of officials or social services would come to visit, there was a good chance they would ring some alarm bells, and she didn't know what would happen then. Her father needed her and she needed him, so she kept going.

* * *

Olivia thought carefully about what she told anyone about her home life. Even Rose didn't know everything. Thankfully her friends left it alone most of the time, knowing by now that they wouldn't get many answers.

Mr Watson believed her today as well, and didn't probe any further. She was a bit ashamed to betray his trust in her like that, even though she hadn't technically lied. Her father did get a prescription for anti-depressants recently, but they were not supposed to be combined with alcohol. She wasn't sure whether the combination didn't affect him, or if he wasn't taking his pills.

She told Mr Watson what had happened, from when school had begun, to last Monday when Peter was attacked. She was surprisingly calm and didn't cry, which she was relieved about. There had been enough crying yesterday. Mr Watson asked her some specific questions about which of the boys had kicked Peter, and who had hurt his arm. He also asked about what Mr Holmes had done when he discovered them, and she told him he had stopped Eric from riding his bike over Peter's stomach, and pushed him to the wall, shouting some things she couldn't remember.

"Did Mr Holmes, at any time, grab Eric by his throat?"

Olivia thought for a moment. She couldn't really remember how he had grabbed Eric, but it had been quite aggressive. She saw Mr Watson's kind but worried eyes looking at her.

"No. No he didn't."

After that Mr Watson had shown her what he'd written down so she could check if anything was missing.

"Are you going to expel them from the school?" she asked when they were finished.

Mr Watson leaned his chin on his palm.

"I don't know yet. I have to give a recommendation to the board of directors. They will make an official decision, and even then, the parents can still appeal that decision."

He sat back in his chair and looked at her over his desk. "What do you think should happen to them, Olivia?"

She was surprised at this question, but thought about it. After a couple of seconds, she spoke.

"I think Billy should be allowed to stay. I think he is just afraid of Eric. I didn't see him kick Peter. He held me but I didn't see him hurt anyone. The other three boys I don't know very well. They were all very aggressive. But I don't want them not to be able to go to school! They should be punished, though…"

"What about Eric?" John asked, impressed by her kindness.

It was silent for a bit.

"Eric scares me," she stated, looking at John with a frown.

John felt an unpleasant tug in his stomach when she said it.

_That's all I need to know._

"Thank you, Olivia."

* * *

**Thank you for reading! The next chapter will cover Sherlock's sexual preferences, and therefore I will be changing the rating to M.**

**Please follow, favourite and/or review!**


	7. Irene

**Hi everyone!**

**Thanks for reading this story. I am extremely happy with every favourite/follow and review!**

**To Miko Hayashi: Thank you for asking about the pairings. It is probably not very clear yet (and this chapter will point in a different direction) but eventually the pairing will be Sherlock and Olivia. But of course, as Olivia is very young, and I don't see Sherlock as person to take advantage of her, it will take a little while :)**

**This chapter is about Sherlock and Irene and contains explicit sex.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Irene**

The rest of the week was relatively uneventful for Sherlock. John had gathered all the statements, including Peter's, and set up a meeting with the board. Theatre classes were cancelled until John had had time to hire a new teacher. Alexander Burke's mentor students were temporarily appointed to Mary, and life resumed as normal.

Sherlock's students had gotten more used to his manner of teaching, which consisted of detailed explanations of the material, exasperated sighs as he noticed that they had no clue what he was talking about, which was followed by a (for him) painfully slow and simplified explanation. People dared to ask questions depending on his mood, which was completely unpredictable. One moment he might be happily drawling on about a chemical reaction, patiently listening as students read out their answers to him, and the next moment he might be nervously pacing and impatient for them to get what he meant. Or he would be drawn into himself, ignoring them, seemingly wishing them to disappear. The clever students kept their mouth shut at such times, the not so clever ones risked to be ridiculed without mercy.

Something they could always depend on was a tiny insight into his exceptional brain through the examples he brought, which usually ended with him describing how he had solved a case. Writing notes to each other in class was dangerous, because before they realised it his quick fingers would have snatched it from their desk. He would read it silently and comment on the stupidity of the content or the spelling mistakes.

Sherlock was surprised to notice how many of the notes he intercepted, even among the youngest pupils, had a sexual content. He could hardly remember what his peers had talked about when he was their age, because he had never listened to them. It disturbed him that people as young as 13 were already so drawn toward sex.

Sometimes he found he was the subject of the discussion, and it became quite clear to him that many of the girls considered him to be 'cute'. He could and would not imagine that they would actually think about him in such ways, so he ignored it completely.

Far too soon it was Friday afternoon and the students hurried out to enjoy their weekend. Sherlock wanted to say goodbye to John, who was fast asleep with his face planted on his desk when Sherlock stuck his head around. The youth in him would not waist such an opportunity. He walked in quietly, picked up a ruler and slammed it into the desk next to John's head. John jumped and looked confused for a second, before he caught Sherlock's eye and they both started laughing.

"May I remind you that I have the authority to fire you Sherlock Holmes?"

"You wouldn't. I'm being way too nice to your beloved pupils." Sherlock replied as he leaned against a bookshelf.

"Yes, I guess you are. I'm hearing good things about you professor Holmes. They actually seem to like you and are terrified of you at the same time. Well done." John grinned. "I hope you'll stay for a while."

"It seems that I do too." Sherlock said thoughtfully. It gave John a reassuring feeling that his friend could thrive in more environments than just the criminal underworld, and he might actually be happy here.

John let out a yawn.

"Well, I know what you will doing this weekend." Sherlock smiled.

"Yes, it has been a hell of a week. Mary has also been quite tired lately, so hopefully I won't be in bed all alone." He said with a cheeky look.

They exited the building together and said goodbye. Sherlock was in a good mood and came home to a tidy apartment. After having cleaned on Monday evening Mrs Hudson was once again willing to come up to bring him tea and have a chat once in a while. He had some of her biscuits for dinner and watched a stupid game show on TV. Deciding there was too much stupidity projected into the room he turned it off and picked up a book, because he didn't feel like starting a new experiment.

Around 10 pm he dozed off on the sofa. When he awoke again in the middle of the night he decided his bed would be a more comfortable place to resume unconsciousness. Half drowsing, he pushed the book from where it lay in his lap. It fell on the floor with a thud. He shuffled into the bathroom to relieve himself, brushed his teeth in the dark, not wanting to wake himself up completely. Still breathing slowly and with his eyes half closed he moved into his bedroom, the only place in the flat that was not cluttered with books and experiments. He sighed as he opened the buttons of his white shirt one by one, the cold air on his bare chest feeling quite pleasant. He undid his trousers and let them fall in a puddle at his already bare feet. Without contemplation he slid his pants down his legs and crawled into bed naked, the soft sheets brushing against him as he cocooned himself into them, falling back into a deep sleep, unsuspecting what would greet him there.

* * *

_Soft warm hands were touching, tickling, stroking. Her voice was deep and warm, but harsh and sharp when she wanted it to be. Her blood red lips were caressing his neck, his shoulders, and the inside of his wrist. They sucked on his fingers and bit his earlobe._

He felt her hands everywhere as the sheets entangled him. His lean body twisted and turned, trying to get away from her, pushing himself against her_. _Her laugh rings in his ears, knowing he can't resist her.

* * *

Sherlock awoke late in the morning with a full erection straining against the sheets. He couldn't remember what he'd dreamt, but knew it was about _her_. He stretched himself and groaned into his pillow as he turned onto his stomach. It happened once in a while. Not very regularly, but often enough for him to know that there was no escaping it. He'd try, of course, desiring to maintain some control over his body. So he untangled himself from the sheets and tried to calm his thoughts before taking a shower.

Before meeting Irene, he hardly ever had urges like this. He'd orgasm only when it became uncomfortable or kept him from concentrating on a case. It was a biological thing that happened a couple of times a year, and hardly any thoughts came into his mind when he would finally masturbate in the shower (because that was the cleanest place to do it).

There was nothing in particular that would turn him on. Besides some fumblings in college he had no experience with sex, and he absolutely didn't mind. He didn't like it when other people touched him, especially strangers, and so he was perfectly fine with taking care of himself when his body demanded it.

Irene had seen him as a challenge, of course. Virginal but mysterious, naïve but extremely intelligent. She had teased him and plagued him and tempted him. Hoping to find the button that would turn him on. Her public displays of seduction turned John on without her even trying looking at him. He'd often excused himself when she came to their flat.

Sherlock had been able to ignore her advances, her displays, her hands on his bum, and her fingernails digging into his skin in passing. But it turned out that all it would take was her lips on his.

Kissing is usually associated with sentiment and romance, so it hadn't occurred to her that that was a place to start with a man like Sherlock. And aside from that, he hadn't even let her come close enough. When she did though, a whole new world was opened for Sherlock, which he would come to love and hate simultaneously.

* * *

One afternoon she visited him while he was working on a case. She was wearing a dark brown skirt with a sheer blouse, no bra. Her stockinged feet in black high heels looked extremely sexy as she moved through the room. The hazy late afternoon sun was softening her features.

Sherlock sat in his armchair sifting through police reports that were strewn all around. His hair was messy, jacket cast aside on his desk and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows. Irene sat on John's chair, who was on a date, and tried to distract him. She couldn't sit still, complained, sighed, moaned, told him what she wanted to do to him and that it was making her wet thinking about it. He didn't even look up.

Then she had silently sneaked up on him. When he felt her proximity and finally shot up an irritated glance to see what she was doing, her lips brushed against his and it was as if an electric current was sent through his entire body.

Suddenly all his muscles were tense and his senses heightened. His heartbeat quickened and he practically felt his own pupils dilate. He could only gaze as her lips crept into a smile, knowing she got him. She took the file he had been reading out of his hands and let it fall to the floor. She leaned towards him and brushed her lips against his a second time, careful now so as not to lose whatever it was that she'd gained. With one knee on the chair between his legs she stared into his eyes and licked his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.

That was the last drop he needed. He pulled her roughly towards him so she straddled his lap and he slid his tongue into her mouth. There was nothing romantic about this kiss. It was driven by pure lust.

She started moving her hips against him experimentally, to see if he would respond. He did, and a long awaited excitement spread through her. He started moaning into her mouth. She moved towards his neck to give him more air to make sounds. Her lips kissed his collarbone and she bit down to hear him hiss through his teeth.

Sherlock had the strangest feeling; the desire to let another person take control over his body, something that had never happened before. His lips felt as if everything they touched was slightly charged, making the sensation ten times as strong. He kissed the skin just below her jawline and she moaned for him, her back arched and her hips pushed forward into the hardness in his trousers. Irene started undoing the buttons on her blouse and revealed her breasts. She let a nipple caress his lips. The hard bud pressed into his soft flesh and it almost made him come then and there. He didn't even realise she was unbuttoning his shirt. He kissed her nipple and when she pressed harder he licked the dark areola. He heard her sharp intake of breath and gripped her sides hard to grind her into his now straining erection.

By then they were both panting and already hovering on the edge. Irene knew they wouldn't make it even halfway to the bedroom, so she moved up a bit to remove her underwear from underneath her skirt. His strained breath warmed her collarbone and she felt his hands stroke the backs of her thighs upwards. The moment the small piece of black fabric hit the floor, she grabbed his right hand moved it between her legs. Sherlock could feel the heat before he even touched her. When he did, she gripped his shoulders and squirmed. They looked into each other's eyes as he let a finger slide slowly through her folds towards her clit. She gasped against his neck as he stroked her, and for a moment she was completely lost. The fingers of the man she had desired for so long touching her was almost too much to bear. After a few minutes he added another finger and moved them to her opening. He dipped them inside her exploringly and she let out a moan. Then he pushed them in her completely and she started to move against his hand. She didn't know that he actually had some experience with this particular part, although he'd never gotten such a strong reaction before.

Irene regained some control and unbuttoned Sherlock's black trousers. She felt victorious when she freed his cock from the constraining fabric. He was beautiful: long, thick and already glistening. She let her fingertips stroke his head, mimicking what he had done to her a few moments earlier. The noise he made was something between a moan and a growl, after which he reclaimed her mouth. Sherlock felt her fingers slide over him and he lost the capability to think straight.

While stroking his tongue with hers, she positioned herself above him. He let his fingers slide out of her and held his cock so she could lower herself down. His facial expression was all ecstasy as he held his breath and let his eyes close. Slowly she started moving. Carefully, but it still didn't take more than two minutes for both of them to climax. She kissed him and his hips moved upwards, driving him deeper. His muscles spasmed as he came, and she let herself go as well. Finally releasing the long built up tension in her body.

They hadn't spoken a single word the entire time. Too busy exploring the other, or too amazed by the pleasure of it. Sherlock had been too stunned by his own arousal to utter anything intelligible. He had never experienced such a need for someone's body before. Her kiss had taken him completely by surprise. Irene had discovered a weakness he didn't even know he had, and continued to explore his sexuality with renewed excitement.

* * *

Irene had activated his sexual prowess and now he had to deal with erections much more often, like today. They gave him a bad temper. It reminded him that he was human like everyone else, and could get aroused by the most ridiculously simple things.

He still didn't particularly enjoy touching himself and had tried other ways to take care of his needs. He noticed that taking a stranger home made him feel disgusted, thinking he could still smell them on him for days afterwards.

So today he took a cold shower, knowing that he would at least get rid of it for a while. The morning he spent stalking around the flat, slamming doors and unable to concentrate on any experiment. He felt angry with everybody, especially Lestrade for being able to ignore him for so long. John had advised him to leave Lestrade alone, but Sherlock could not stop himself from sending an angry text about the serial killer case they were reporting on BBC news. It was like drunk dialling but different.

Eventually he decided to go for a long walk around London. The fresh air and physical exercise seemed to help. He ended up sitting on a bench on the Southbank smoking a cigarette and watching boats full of tourists for a while. About 50 meters to his right was a skating park, and he heard a vaguely familiar voice. Looking over, he saw that it was Anthony Wilding, one of his 3B pupils, with some friends he didn't recognise. That seemed to him like a good time to leave, so he took another drag from his cigarette and got up.

As he walked away he could feel Anthony's stare in his back, but didn't turn to look. He was not in the mood for small talk, and definitely not with a schoolboy. Somehow it still disturbed him that outside of the school these children had lives, and that they were actually living in the same world as he was. He considered John quite foolish for thinking he could protect them in any way. Sherlock was familiar with the current crime statistics and didn't understand why anyone would even want to put a child into the world. However, at the same time he admired John for having so much faith in humankind, putting so much effort into saving it.

When he got back to Baker Street it was already late. He spent the rest of the evening reading the most boring book he could find, and was confident that the 'problem' of this morning had been averted.

Of course it hadn't.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning he cursed, feeling his once again hard shaft pressed between his belly and the mattress, a friction he couldn't deny made him wish for Irene's lips. With an exasperated sigh he turned himself over.

They had spent several weeks together, and Irene's desire to explore his sexuality seemed insatiable. Because of her explorations, he knew now exactly what aroused him the most. The annoying thing was that he didn't have any of it available right now. His hand snaked down underneath the covers, his cock growing even harder in anticipation.

He thought about Irene and how she had done everything to find out what would make him beg. She found out that not only her lips turned him on, but also his own.

The one and only time she had succeeded to make him beg for mercy was when she had blindfolded him and tied down by his wrists to her bed. She had teased his lips with unknown objects and body parts. He explored each object with his mouth while she whispered how she would use them to pleasure herself. A vibrator had been one of them.

Stroking himself, Sherlock remembered in sharp detail how her nipple pressed against his mouth and he had felt it grow hard as the flicked it with his tongue. She hissed in his ear what she was going to do with her mouth when she ran out of items to feed him with.

Sherlock moaned.

He felt her mouth sucking on two of his fingers. She hadn't touched him below the navel yet, but the sensory deprivation made him imagine she was sucking him there.

_You like that don't you? _

_Do you want to taste me?_

"Oh God yes." Sherlock's hand moved faster now.

She was above him and his now expert tongue stroked her in the exact way he knew would make her come hard. Her moans sounded in his ears.

After that she removed his blindfold.

_Well done. I think you deserve to see this._

He was impatient. The muscles in his arms stood out from straining against the ropes that tied him down.

"Touch me. Please. Irene" Sherlock's back arched now and his head throw back in the pillows as he jerked his hips.

Her red lips moved downwards across his chest, passed his bellybutton to brush his cock. He was harder than ever and when she finally touched him a gulf of pleasure crashed through his body. Her tongue stroked the sensitive head excruciatingly softly and he begged for her to make him come.

"Irene! I need to… _please_."

She finally took his entire length into her mouth and increased her rhythm. Sherlock imagined how her lips moved up and down his cock as he moved. A sheen of sweat had formed on his torso. Irene caressed him and sucked on him. Letting out a groan he came almost as forcefully in his hand as he had in her mouth that day.

Sherlock continued breathing hard for while. Growing soft in his hand he felt the stickiness on his belly. It was just over two years ago, at the end of the summer, that Irene had blindfolded him. They had spent hot days exploring every part of each other, and Sherlock had actually found out he could make her beg for him as well. Irene was determined to try everything with him. It was her experiment, leading from interesting moments in public spaces like clubs and theatres, to her daring him to kiss another man. He knew he could turn her on by trying new things, so he didn't tell her he'd kissed several men during his years in college.

Kissing remained his biggest trigger, although strangers could never excite him as much as Irene did. John was the only other non-stranger he'd tried it on, but he kept that far in the back of his mind on moments like this. It felt wrong towards Mary to get off on memories of John, and he didn't particularly feel the need to.

Sherlock finally got up from his bed to take a shower. He felt much better when he finished, and the rest of the day he spent buried in old case files, assembling the pictures he considered safe enough for his students to see so as not to spoil their innocent minds. Although of course, he considered the possibility that they were not as innocent as John thought.

* * *

**This chapter was a bit different from the previous ones. Let me know what you think of it!**


	8. 221

**Another chapter, yay! **

**I am writing a lot, so expect new chapters regularly.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Promotion**

Olivia stood at her locker, trying to fit in the many books she'd carried to school this morning. She hadn't been able to catch up with her homework. She'd tried to tidy the house a little bit, getting rid of empty bottles, cleaning and making sure there was enough food in the house. When she had gone out for the shopping her dad asked her to get him some vodka, not remembering she was not nearly old enough to do that. He'd still have to go out on his own for that. It hurt to know that her father was that far gone, to ask her to do something like that.

On Sunday, Peter had rung their doorbell to tell her he was coming back to school. She had not been able to let him inside because her father was on the couch in the living room, and it had felt terribly wrong to blow him off like that. She hoped Peter didn't think she wanted nothing to do with him. It had been quite awkward until he had finally said "see you tomorrow", and left her standing on the doorstep.

Her dad had started his pills, and she suspected that he was not reacting well to the medicine in combination with alcohol. His mood had been all over the place, from extreme sadness to extreme happiness to extremely grumpy. She just stayed quiet and tried not to counter anything he said to avoid upsetting him. When he said he still missed her mother just as much as the day she died, she said "me too". When he told her that her mother had been the most beautiful woman in the world, she said "yes she was". When he argued that his sadness only showed how much he had loved her mother, Olivia said "of course dad". And it went on and on, until he was ready for her to help him to bed, after which she lay awake for hours.

Everything and everyone raced through her mind.

Her thoughts went from Peter, who she hoped wasn't angry with her,

to Eric, who she wondered would be expelled because of what she said about him,

to her father, who she was afraid was never going to cope with his loss,

to Lucy, who she still needed to buy a present for,

to Anthony, who had told her the other day that he really wanted to kiss her, which made her nervous and excited at the same time.

And finally she thought of Mr Holmes, who seemed to know everything about everyone, which worried her. He might discuss her with Mr Watson, which would undoubtedly lead to more questioning. At the same time she had the urge to tell him everything, because his penetrating blue eyes told her he already knew. However, she was afraid of what would happen if she did, so she decided to fight that urge at all times. It exhausted her, trying to balance so many things at once. It didn't bide well for her attentiveness in class.

* * *

She slammed the palm of her hand against her locker in an angry attempt to see if it would stay shut. It didn't, and she cursed under her breath.

"Go wash your mouth, Miss Edwards", a deep baritone voice echoed through the hallway behind her. She turned around abruptly and saw it was Mr Holmes who was on his way to the science room. He'd said it in his stride and was already with his back towards her when he added, "And don't try to force too many books into a small space. They won't appreciate it."

Olivia watched him with her mouth half open as he walked away from her. Her cheeks flushed a bit. Her professor walked with such confidence and his movements were always incredibly calculated. The sunlight was streaming through his dark curls that ended at the pale skin of his elegant neck. She found it quite fascinating to watch.

"Admiring Holmes' bum?" said an amused voice. Once again Olivia turned quickly to see who was talking to her. Rose was leaning with one elbow on the locker door that refused to close and had a mischievous smile on her face, which made her blush even more.

"No! He was talking to me. How was your weekend?" She said.

"Lucky you… It was fine, watched some movies with Lucy. Yesterday I visited Cambridge with my parents. Anyway, I hear Peter's back, did you see him?"

"Yes, he came to tell me yesterday. He looks alright, he still has some stitches in his forehead." As Olivia said it, Peter, Lucy and Anthony walked around the corner. Anthony kissed Olivia's cheek and Lucy whistled for them through her teeth. Olivia didn't understand why everyone needed to make her blush today.

As they walked to class her friends chatted about their weekends. Lucy's parents had taken her to see a horse they wanted to buy her for her birthday. They were very posh people and lived in Hampstead, close to the park where she would be able to ride it. Lucy was over the moon and told them they should go ride it together sometime soon.

In the meantime Anthony had managed to close Olivia's locker properly and handed her the key.

"You won't get me anywhere near a horse." he said. "But speaking of birthday presents, I saw Holmes yesterday at Southbank." He grinned.

"I would LOVE for him to be my birthday present! Does he look as hot on Sundays as on weekdays?" Lucy joked.

"I guess you would find him hot no matter what. He was just smoking a cigarette on a bench. Walked away before I could say hi. Not that I would have, he looked extremely grumpy."

"Was he alone?" Lucy interrogated.

"Yep"

"Interesting…"

Rose sighed at Lucy's dreamy look.

"How was your weekend Liv?"

"It was fine. Come on, we're going to be late for class if we don't hurry up", she said quickly, not looking her friend in the eye.

* * *

They had just taken their seats when Mr Holmes started speaking in his authoritarian tone of voice. He was obviously in a bad mood.

"Right. Class. I have some announcements before we start. First of all, Mr Garrison is back with us. Still recovering from his concussion, so I'm told. So try to contain your urge to shout. It will be greatly appreciated."

Peter sank down in his chair, trying to become invisible.

"Second, there will be an exam at the end of this week."

Instantly a worried murmur rose from the group and people started to protest.

"There is a reason why I made the 'no shouting' announcement before I told you about the exam." Mr Holmes sighed. "I need to assess whether you're underdeveloped brains are grasping any of the information I've given you during the past few weeks. It will put Mr Watson's mind at ease. The questions will be quite straightforward, covering all the materials you've read so far, and if you study there is no reason you should fail. Today's class we will use to revise, however boring that may sound, so use it to ask questions. On this occasion I will consider answering the stupid ones as well."

His attitude did not encourage them to ask questions, though. Olivia was very glad that science was one of the few subjects she had kept up with during the past few weeks.

* * *

After classes on Monday, Sherlock went to John's office. Ms Stevenson had, to his horror, approached him in the corridor and told him he was expected in John's office at 4 pm. Sherlock found it shocking that John, supposedly his best friend, would send his evil secretary to order him around. He was planning to go to his office only to tell him what a wanker he was and that he shouldn't expect anyone to respond positively to such an offensive approach.

To his surprise, both John and Mary were waiting for him when he arrived. They were smiling manically and Sherlock became a bit hesitant about his intended rant. John asked him to sit on the couch. He himself sat on the armrest of Mary's chair.

"Right, Sherlock. How shall I say this…" Mary smiled up at him fondly. Encouraging him to go on.

"Mary's pregnant", John let out a deep breath, obviously happy to have said it. But his big news was met with an expressionless face.

"Right."

"Right?"

"Well, it was fairly obvious John. You cannot possibly expect me to be surprised."

"Don't tell us you knew this." John was too happy to be annoyed, but had hoped for a little bit more than total indifference from Sherlock.

"Mary's lunch has doubled in size over the last couple of weeks. She's been feeling tired, and a month ago you two were-"

"We get it! No need to explain." Mary cut in. "We were just wondering if you would be willing to take on some of my workload. It will give me some rest and I'll have time to enjoy the pregnancy."

"Can't imagine your state to be a very pleasant experience, but you've probably read about it. Anyway, yes I would, as long as I don't have to deal with sick teenagers. I am not a nurse."

John smiled. "Great! You can take on some of Mary's classes, and I would like to appoint the mentor pupils from Burke to you, if you don't mind. There are about ten of them. You seem to have a good influence, and you handled the situation with Peter last week very professionally, so I think it shouldn't have to be a problem."

Sherlock looked doubtful.

"Does that mean I'd have to talk with them?"

"A bit more than that, actually. It means that you will have to get to know them. You will have to monitor their progress and steer them in the right direction. Most important, you will have to show some interest when they have any problems."

Sherlock looked alarmed, but not completely horrified, so John continued.

"It also means that you would have more hours at school. You would get an office, and have office hours. It will be quite a responsibility, because I will trust you to look out for them for me. It turns out that McMullen did more work than I realised, so I will be busy as well. And hiring a good theatre professor turns out to be more difficult than I thought."

"I think I can manage it."

"That's a relief Sherlock, but I need to know that you will be fully committed to this. I don't want you to quit after two weeks because you're tired of listening to them. The pupils need a reliable person to go to, who treats them with respect and makes time for them. So if you're not completely sure I can try to squeeze them in with other mentor groups."

"No John, I am perfectly capable. To my amazement, I am rather enjoying teaching at this establishment. The youths aren't so bad either, as long as they don't have too much sugar."

John beamed at him and looked a little relieved. "Thank you Sherlock, it will take a load off my mind. We will discuss the details later this week and get you settled into McMullen's old office."

They got up and Sherlock was already at the door when he turned around to them.

"John, Mary…"

They looked up.

"Congratulations. It's a very lucky baby." Sherlock said with a slight smile in the corner of his mouth. Then he left.

John cleared his throat and Mary's eyes actually welled up a little bit as they looked at each other.

"Do you think it's the right decision?" John asked her.

"I've got a feeling Sherlock will do brilliantly," she said.

* * *

On Wednesday Sherlock got the key to his new office and the key to the storage room in case he wanted to change the furniture. It was a relatively small office on the first floor, but it had a big window overlooking the schoolyard. There was a desk, a bookcase, and some chairs, but most of it was very old.

Sherlock went up to the second floor to see what was in the storage room. The room turned out to be number 221, a classroom close to the staircase. He wondered why John had sent Olivia to such a strange place to have a rest. He tried to unlock the door, but it was already open.

Half of room 221 was filled with old furniture. Desks, tables, chairs, and a couple of blackboards were piled on top of each other, forming a big mountain that in some places reached the ceiling. Two big couches and a coffee table occupied the other side of the room.

Three pupils looked up as he came in. They were reading, and looked completely at peace as the afternoon sun put them in a pleasant soft light. They didn't move at all when they noticed him.

"Hello Mr Holmes. Do you need something?" Rose asked, sounding like a primary school teacher speaking to a six year old.

Rose was sat on the couch to the right, her back against the armrest and her legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. On the other couch against the far wall in the corner was Lucy, who had her knees drawn up to her and was snuggled comfortably in the cushions. Next to her, with her legs up over the backrest and her back resting on the seat, head almost completely upside down, was Olivia, holding a book in her hands. Her long brown hair fell in waves of brown and gold towards the floor as she looked at him. Her skirt had fallen down a couple of inches, revealing her knees and part of her thighs.

Sherlock somehow couldn't stop his gaze from lingering for a moment. He felt a slight tug in his lower abdomen and wondered if this would generally be considered an erotic sight. He could see the soft little golden hairs on her legs as the sun lit them up.

Olivia watched Mr Holmes' eyes linger on her thighs and she felt a rapid heat spread through her, brought forth by both embarrassment and excitement. Self-consciously she pulled at her skirt a bit and closed the gap between her legs, but it didn't really help cover them.

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Sherlock asked them, looking sharply at Lucy. His demeanour was snappy as usual and his voice didn't betray anything.

"No, Mr Watson fired our theatre teacher. We're studying here during class hours until he finds a new one," Lucy said happily.

Sherlock stood in the middle of the room; arms folded across his chest, observing them with narrowed eyes. He was completely focused again and not letting their innocent appearance fool him so easily. He was used to seeing them in class and in comparison they looked suspiciously relaxed, but he couldn't find anything incriminating on them.

"Did Mr Watson give you permission to be here alone?"

"He gave me the key," said Olivia, still upside down.

"We are studying for the exam," Lucy said.

A silence fell and the girls looked up at him expectantly while he considered what to do.

"As you are here, you can help me get some of this stuff to my office," he said merrily.

They looked at him as if he was mad.

"_Us?"_ Lucy asked. "Better ask some of the boys downstairs. They are built for that kind of thing."

"You will be perfectly fine, Miss Griffin. You are capable of riding a horse, so you can move a desk."

"How do you know I ride a horse?" Lucy gasped.

"I would think us being prepared for our science exam has a higher priority than you having furniture, don't you think, sir?" Rose interjected.

"Did Mr Watson give you McMullen's office?" Olivia asked thoughtfully "Why is that?"

None of them had made any move to get up yet.

Sherlock sighed, getting impatient now.

"Yes, I will be in McMullen's old office, Miss Edwards. There is horsehair on your blouse Miss garrison, and a mark from where it bit you in the arm three or four days ago. And Miss Edeson, me having furniture in my office is _vital_ to your exam results, as I will not be able to mark anything if I don't have a desk. So if you would be so kind to drag yourself from that couch, I might not mention your attitude to Mr Watson when I go and ask him what he was thinking, giving you a key to this place."

He looked right into her eyes as Olivia swung her legs down and twisted her body so that she could get up. "You don't seem to think we are trustworthy, sir." She said innocently, now leaning her hip against a wooden desk, her hair in a wild mess around her face.

Sherlock was surprised by her boldness and wondered where it came from so suddenly. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You haven't done anything to gain my trust, Miss Edwards."

This was absolutely not true. Olivia had impressed him with her loyalty towards Peter, by speaking out about her own mentor, and her kindness in her statement about the incident. He wouldn't want to give her too much acknowledgement, however, as she suddenly seemed to be so self-assured.

He broke their eye contact. "You can start right now." He removed his jacket from his shoulders and started rolling up the cuffs of his shirt.

Seeing the well-built man do this, Lucy got up immediately to help. Rose sighed in exasperation, but didn't feel like studying on her own, so she got up to help as well.

It took some time to move things out of the way to get to the items their teacher wanted to have. Of course, Sherlock had taste so he picked the heaviest oak desk and a huge armchair. On the way to his office, Lucy was chattering to him non-stop about her new horse, about the exam and about her birthday. Olivia could see the patience draining from her professor's eyes as he was forced to listen to her over the desk. Rose noticed it, too.

"When you were a detective," she started while she pushed the armchair forward without being able to see where she was going, "did you ever catch murderers who killed teenagers?"

"I did."

"Do you have a better understanding of their motives now you are working here?" she asked, grinning.

He didn't answer, but Olivia saw the corner of his mouth curl upwards for a moment.

When they had managed to drag the heavy items to his office one floor below, Lucy and Rose were promptly ordered to take the old desk, which thankfully was a lot lighter, back to 221. "Rude", Rose muttered annoyed under her breath as they walked out carrying it.

Olivia was about to follow them outside, when Sherlock asked her to stay behind for a moment. Had her heart rate not already been fast from the physical effort, it would have increased right then. She stepped back into his office. It was a bit dark as the curtains were drawn halfway.

"Sit", he said, so she let herself slide down into the armchair, which had been left close to the door, and wondered what this was about.

Sherlock observed how Olivia's entire presence changed from a confident and comfortable young woman, to a rather frightened looking girl in a too large chair. He sat down on a chair in front of her, hoping to appear less intimidating. It took a while before he spoke.

"Does Mr Watson give you that key often?"

"Sometimes."

"When?"

His eyes were grey in the low lighting of the office and he was observing her with interest. A chill went down her spine. She was afraid that she would have to lie and that he would know immediately.

"When I'm tired, or upset." she almost whispered while avoiding eye contact.

"How often does that happen?" He asked, struggling not to sound impatient.

"Maybe once or twice a week." No lies yet.

"And what makes you tired?" He saw her visibly shrink.

"Sometimes I can't sleep at night," her voice was already beginning to shake.

"Alright, that happens to me too," he said kindly. "And what upsets you?"

Suddenly she looked up. Her eyes flashed brown and green as they met his and he detected some panic in them. She kept her lips pressed tightly together.

"Is it your dad's depression?"

"Why do I have to tell you?" Her voice had regained some confidence.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose for a moment.

"Fair enough. Mr Watson has asked me to take on Mr Burke's pupils, so I will be your mentor from now on. I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to, but I need to know if you are fine."

"What about Mrs Watson?"

"Mrs Watson is taking on less work, for personal reasons."

"Is she pregnant?"

"Why do you think that?" Sherlock was intrigued now.

"Because Rose guessed it. She says they are touching each other all the time, and that he looks happy even though he's very tired."

"Very good observation, although I cannot confirm or deny her conclusion. Now, will you tell me what's upsetting you?" As he said it he saw her panic again, and Sherlock knew it was too forceful.

"No." she said, shaking her head slowly. And then, more quietly, "There is nothing to tell, really."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair before looking up again. "That will not make this easier, Olivia. You will need to trust me a little."

"You haven't earned my trust, sir." She said, and she moved to get up.

Sherlock had no reply to that, so he let her go without a word, watching her walk out the door.

Olivia didn't know how quickly she had to get out of there. When she closed the door behind her she took a deep unsteady breath. She thought she had avoided his question by asking about Mary, but he wasn't thrown off track easily. She didn't know if she had just made it worse by being cheeky.

As she walked through the corridor Olivia thought about how she would cope with him as her mentor. Mr Holmes was undoubtedly the most attractive man she had ever met, sending shivers down her spine whenever he decided to cast a glance in her direction. Lucy would probably be jealous of her and Rose, who had also been one of Burke's pupils. At the same time he formed a threat. He looked at her in such an observant way sometimes, she was afraid it would just be a matter of time before social services appeared on her doorstep. She would have to be very careful.

Sherlock sat in his darkened office, staring ahead of him and thinking about the girl whose kindness and loyalty reminded him of his best friend.

He had never particularly desired anyone's trust before, but for some reason he desperately wanted Olivia's.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think. It is very encouraging! **

**Follow for regular updates :)**


	9. John

**Thanks to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed this story! I'm very happy to know that people like it so far.**

**This chapter is not extremely important to the story. It is about what happened between Sherlock and John, something that has been mentioned in chapter 7 but I thought might need some explaining.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: John**

"Why did you give me all the loony's?" Sherlock exclaimed, slouched on the couch in John's office, skimming through the personal files of his brand new mentor pupils. He had an office now, but the small room was still empty and boring, so he had opted for John's.

"Your group is not more or less intelligent or troubled than any other. And if you could hide your disappointment when you talk to them, that would be great." John said, staring at the document in front of him. "And there are some above average one's there, look at Olivia's marks. Rose's might be even better."

"I admit they show signs of some intelligence, which means they could do much better than _this_."

"Well, Rose's marks are already up compared to last year. Olivia has a lot going on. You've read her file, haven't you?"

"I have. Tragic family death, incompetent father, marks dropped quite a bit last year… She has more going on than what is in her file though." Sherlock mumbled.

John looked up from his work. "What do you mean, _more going on_?"

"I suspect her father is more than a little depressed. I expect she's protecting him. She got rather defensive when I questioned her about it."

"Don't tell me you interrogated a pupil, Sherlock!" John looked particularly worried now.

"It's what I do," Sherlock said innocently as he looked up at John.

"No it's not, not anymore. She hardly knows you, you must have terrified her." John said harshly.

"Don't worry, St. Watson-of-all-troubled-teenagers, she just told me she wasn't ready to talk to me yet."

"Do you think she needs help?"

"John, pay attention. I said _stop worrying_. I'll get it out of her."

"Just be careful, then."

"Hmmm. I believe your approach is too soft. Ran into a couple of them in room 221, lounging around like they owned the place. I strongly advise you not to let them spend hours in there without supervision."

"Every pupil I give that key has to agree to certain conditions. Besides, I do check on them from time to time," John said defensively.

"You are so ignorant, John. A private room at school is the perfect environment for all kinds of disruptive behaviour. One moment you will be just a little too busy to check on them, the next they will be pregnant and injecting heroine into their-..."

"Well, as opposed to you, Sherlock, I actually have some trust in my pupils. Their stupidity doesn't reach as low as yours does on occasion." John snapped.

Sherlock scowled from his place on the couch.

"Alright, but don't say I haven't warned you. This Wilding fellow has been clung to Olivia like a bee on honey lately."

John couldn't deny that, he tapped the end of his pen on his desk in a fast rhythm. It was good that Sherlock had started to care for at least one of them.

"I'm glad you're so protective of her, but I think she is capable of making her own decisions in that respect. Anthony is not the type to take advantage, anyway."

In the back of his mind John couldn't fully believe that he was gossiping about the love life of a teenage girl with Sherlock Holmes.

"I'm keeping an eye on him," Sherlock grumbled dangerously, his eyes narrowing at the though of the boy.

It was quiet for a while, and John returned his attention to reading a report about new government regulations and funding for secondary schools. He was trying to calculate how it might be possibly to fit in more lecture hours using the limited number of teachers he had, when Sherlock's voice interrupted him with a question once again.

"Why 221?"

John sighed. "What?"

Sherlock had slouched even more now, resting his chin on his chest to be able to read the file that he held up on his stomach. His feet, crossed at the ankles, rested on the coffee table.

"Why choose 221 to be the recovery and lounge area for deranged pupils?"

"They are not deranged," John said, raising his finger at him as a warning. "And it's just the room that was available at the time."

"Hmmm, sure," Sherlock hummed.

"According to my theory, it was an unconscious attempt of yours at recapturing better times. You know, when you lived with me."

John scowled. "Seriously Sherlock, you make a horrible psychiatrist."

"No shame in it John, longing back for the best period of your life."

"No offense, but the better times for me started when Mary came into my life. There were countless times when I was ready to move out of that flat to get away from your bloody absurd lifestyle."

"But you didn't! You loved it. Room 221 is simply sentiment."

He said it with a satisfied smile.

"Yeah, you said something about my love for danger, being chased by criminals, being strapped to bombs or locked in sewers, just before I punched you that time, remember?"

"Of course I remember. And that was just before we did that other thing, suggesting to me that you wanted nothing more but to stay, actually."

Sherlock picked up another file from the pile beside him and pretended to read with interest.

John's face turned red at the memory. Oh, how Sherlock's tongue is his mouth had turned him on at the time.

"Yes, well… that was just that moment."

"Three moments, if I recall correctly."

* * *

Of course he recalled correctly.

John had always found Sherlock attractive, but considered himself straight and didn't particularly desire anything more than friendship. It was well known that Sherlock was bisexual, because, to Sherlock's annoyance, Irene had been unable to keep her mouth shut about her explorations. She'd paid someone to kiss him at a party, to see how Sherlock would react, as an experiment. The detective had seen it coming from miles away, but played along with her game because he had enjoyed the man's company. That was, until the guy had tried to touch his groin, and was promptly shoved aside by the part of Sherlock that had an aversion for being touched by strangers.

There had been three moments in which the consulting detective and his blogger had suddenly become more than friends or colleagues. They were hot, hurried, outburst of energy, that had occurred after solving particularly difficult cases.

The first time had been after the case of the murdered surgeon, in which John's medical knowledge had been of particular good use. Sherlock had not commented on John's intelligent revelations, and it had been no surprise. However, when they arrived back at Baker Street that night, Sherlock grabbed him by his shoulders and pressed him against the wall in the dark corridor. Without warning he had claimed John's mouth. It took him a couple of seconds, but then he had responded by opening his mouth for Sherlock's tongue. The exploration lasted about 10 seconds until the taller man had pulled back.

"Well done today, John," he had said, before disappearing into his bedroom and shutting the door.

For a moment John had panicked, having no idea what triggered this outburst and no idea what Sherlock wanted exactly. The kiss had been good, but had been too fast to fully realise what was going on. Besides, John was afraid something awkward like this could ruin their friendship.

To his relief, it didn't. The next day they had gotten up, drank tea, went to the yard to provide some evidence for Lestrade to write up, and went home again. Nothing happened and nothing was said about the night before. Sherlock was just Sherlock, and John didn't ask any questions.

The second time they kissed was after a case involving a member of a gentlemen's club that Mycroft frequented. It was the kind of club where men would drink, smoke and engage in intellectual conversations. They had spent a night mingling, something Sherlock did expertly, to identify any enemies of the victim. His posh background came in handy and he let it show through in every gracious gesture, every pompously old fashioned word. John had observed Sherlock with interest as the man smoked a cigar and pretended to know the prime minister's name (another one of those 'irrelevant' pieces of information).

When they got home they were both unsteady on their feet from the whiskey and relieved to be back in the place where they could relax. Sherlock had commented on how good John looked in a tuxedo, and John had said something about Sherlock sucking on a cigar. Before he knew it their mouths were entwined in a drunken adventure against the kitchen counter.

As far as he could remember, nothing else happened. He could remember jerking off to the thought of the detective the next morning, though.

* * *

John's attention snapped back to the current conversation.

"And you think that 221 means that I want to go back to that? Because I don't, Sherlock, I thought you knew that."

"I do know that, and I understand perfectly well that you are happy living with Mary. The only thing I'm suggesting is that it's not just me who longs for a case, a chase, a good old murder mystery to solve."

John saw his friend's mind wander to dream nostalgically about crime scenes, and sighed.

"No mate. You need to realise that that time is over. The number 221 is not a clue that I want to get back into battling the criminal underworld with you. The pupils are your mysteries now, and they need your attention. So go sulk in your own office, I actually have work to do."

* * *

When Sherlock finally left him alone, however, John had difficulty concentrating on his work. He couldn't help think about the third and last time something happened between him and Sherlock, which was after a case for which Sherlock had almost died.

The detective had been particularly keen on finding a man who was slaughtering young people, mostly women, with a sword. It had been a particularly dangerous chase that reached its climax in an old abandoned warehouse. John had just been able to prevent his best friend from getting his throat cut, by shooting the serial killer right between the eyes.

Sherlock had been stoic during the ordeal, calmly telling John to shoot without a hint of fear in his features. However, when the man fell to the ground, leaving Sherlock standing, he lost control of the pumped up adrenaline in his body. He had grabbed John's shoulder and his body had shaken. John had no sympathy though, and had punched Sherlock for his complete and utter stupidity, getting himself in such danger. It was one of the few times Sherlock admitted he had been a tiny bit stupid.

When they got home, the detective was calm once again, but John was still on a high from killing, which made him extremely confident. The lack of sex in John's life in the previous 4 months added to his decision not to supress the sudden impulse. He walked into the hallway between the kitchen and Sherlock's bedroom and intercepted the man as he came out of the bathroom. The full lips of his friend smiled in surprise but responded to him almost instantly.

That time it hadn't stopped at a kiss. John's initiative suggested to Sherlock that he actually wanted some physical contact with the other man, and the erection pressing against his thigh confirmed this. The moment Sherlock rubbed John with the palm of his hand, he had complete power over him. John was lost in the feeling of the man's tongue against his as his trousers magically came undone and were slid down his hips. Sherlock's lips moved to brush his jaw as his hand slid into his boxers and started stroking him there.

"Oh fuck, Sherlock," John had whimpered at the delicious feeling of another person's fingers on his sensitive cock. He was too worked up to worry about it when a few moments later Sherlock moved down and he realised what was about to happen.

It was as if Sherlock was trying to overpower him with his mouth, as it moved fast over his now throbbing erection. John's mind went blank and he could only stand still and let it happen. The strokes were forceful and it didn't take long before he let out a loud moan, wrapped up in the ecstasy of his orgasm.

When he was finished, Sherlock sat on the floor and leaned his back against the wall, catching his breath. John pulled his boxers up and let himself slide down to sit next to him.

"Jesus," he muttered in a daze.

John realised that he hadn't paid any attention to Sherlock's arousal, so he turned his body slightly towards the man, whose dark curls where sticking slightly to the sweaty skin of his temple.

"Do you want me to-…"

"No, don't, it's fine." Sherlock said quickly and told him with a wave of his arm that he really didn't want John's hesitantly approaching hand to touch him. It made him wonder if he had enjoyed the experience at all.

They sat in silence for a short moment, until the detective spoke in a bright voice.

"Well, better get on with the case."

With that, he got himself up and walked into the living room, leaving John behind on the floor.

The whole encounter had not taken more than 8 minutes.

John couldn't believe Sherlock, and considered trying to talk to him about whatever strange experiment this was. But then he saw him happily pacing the living room, gathering pictures of a supposed assistant to the man John had shot a couple of hours earlier, pinning them to the wall above the couch. Nothing about his manner could betray what had just happened. John sighed in confusion and decided to go and take a shower instead.

He never truly found out what it had meant to Sherlock. He suspected it was a combination of his curiosity about John's sexuality, a rush of adrenaline, and possibly a need for human contact, which he hardly ever accepted.

Whatever it was, he was glad it had not changed their friendship. Sherlock had accepted Mary gracefully into their life, and had never suggested he was looking for anything more intimate than friendship with John.

John's conception of his own sexuality had changed, though, and he noticed that he was attracted to other men sometimes, as he was to women. However, Mary was all he needed, and she knew everything about him there was to know. She had smiled when he told her about the strange sexual encounters, but had also warned that if something like that were to happen again, Sherlock's days would be numbered.

Right now though, the old memory of that hurried, heated moment with Sherlock's mouth caused a familiar rush of blood to John's groin. He got up, stuck his head around the door to check if everything was quiet, and walked out into the corridor, hoping to God that he would find Mary alone.

* * *

**More chapters coming soon!**


	10. Mentoring

**This took me a while but it has become an extra long chapter! **

**Please let me know if you like it by following, favouriting or reviewing. It is great to get feedback!**

**Trigger warning: Physical abuse  
**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock, Not mine.**

* * *

On Friday afternoon class 3B made their first exam for Mr Holmes. Everybody had been extremely nervous and studied deep into the night, scared of his high expectations.

People kept shifting in their seats, sweating and mumbling to themselves while they scribbled down answers or simply stared at their blank answer paper.

Sherlock sat at his desk and watched the classroom with his all-observing eyes. The pupils had by now understood, that anything they did in this class would be noticed immediately, irrespective of whether Holmes was looking in their direction. Therefore, none of them dared to cheat, which made for a very boring exercise for Sherlock's brain.

As he sat silently at the front of the room, Sherlock decided to deduce his pupils. It was the perfect moment, because they were not paying attention to him and he could observe them in a stressful situation, too occupied to repress unwanted facial expressions, ticks, and insecurities.

He noticed how some pupils did not appear stressed at all, and he determined the causes for it. Emma, who sat slouched in her chair and was playing carelessly with her pen, didn't care about her marks and therefore the exam didn't bother her. Harry had been stressed when he started, but realised that he couldn't answer the questions. He was leaning forward on the desk, his face buried in his crossed arms. Dave was grinning at the exam paper, high off his mind.

Sherlock made mental notes to talk to them, however dreadful the prospect.

His gaze drifted to Olivia, who was squinting her eyes at the paper, rubbing her eyes while she read the questions. She looked particularly tired today and he wondered what had kept her awake last night. It didn't bode well for her test score.

Olivia had trouble concentrating on the questions, but was relatively sure about her answers. She wrote down whatever she could remember from Mr Holmes' examples in her notes, and hoped for the best.

She finished a bit earlier than her friends and decided to sneak off before anyone could ask her to come and hang out with them somewhere.

She got up to put the exam on Mr Holmes' desk. When she got there, he all but snatched it out of her hands to place on the pile in front of him. Sometimes Olivia was convinced that somebody with such impatience could not be a good teacher. However, there were moments in class when he explained complex theories with so much conviction and clarity that he wrapped each and every one of them around his finger, ready to soak up more knowledge.

She flung her bag over her shoulder, completely oblivious to the blue-eyed gaze that followed her to the door.

Studying for the exam had taken up all of her time this week, and last night her father had been extremely hard to deal with. He'd gotten upset because he was out of beer, and she had to take him to the shop in the middle of the night to and get some. Olivia would rather have gone alone, but they would have asked for her identification. Her father had been talking loudly and bumped into almost everything in the narrow isles of the 24 hour shop. At the counter she had had to enter his pin number because he'd forgotten. The elderly man at the cash register had frowned in disgust as she supported her mumbling father to the exit. It had been extremely embarrassing and when they got home it was already 1 am.

Olivia felt her limbs become heavy as the rush of adrenaline from the exam left her body. She walked through the echoing hallways to 221, hoping to catch some hours of sleep before they would close off the building for the weekend. She closed the door behind her, drew the curtains, and laid herself down on a couch. The cushions were old, but soft and deep, and it took only two minutes for her now relaxed mind to sink into a deep sleep.

* * *

Sherlock had the exams marked within an hour after the last depressed pupil had left the room, curious to see if anything had stuck in their heads. As it turned out, most of 3B had passed the exam, although many answers were so poorly structured that Sherlock had urges to use curse words in his feedback.

When he was finished he went to see if John was still in his office. Sherlock would be proud to show him the positive results, even though he'd never admit to it.

As he approached, he saw that John was speaking angrily to someone on the phone. When he finished the call the headmaster slammed a fist into his desk in fury.

"How the fuck did this happen?" John stood up and ran a hand through his short hair.

Sherlock looked at him and waited expectantly for an explanation.

"The board has decided not to expel _Eric Walker_. They ignored my advice and all evidence that the kid is a danger to the other pupils. They just don't understand that _I _am responsible for solving this mess. _I _have to put Eric back into a classroom with his bloody victim! God, I wouldn't be surprised if Peter moves to a different school. He's a good student! He deserves some peace. I tell you, someone is pulling strings here. I can't fucking believe it."

"Want me to find out who's doing the pulling?" Sherlock asked. A quick phone call to these board members would do the trick.

"Ah no, Sherlock. I have to solve this mess. Better not get involved. I'm afraid we'll have to accept it, but one incident and I'll show him the door again."

While John stayed in his office to call Peter's parents, Sherlock offered to check if the building was empty before they locked up and left.

As he walked through the school, it was dark and quiet, aside from the sound of his polished shoes on the floor. It felt strange for the space that was normally so alive with young people, to be so silent. The dark corridors reminded him of the time he almost swallowed a possibly lethal pill from the cabbie years ago. I was the first time John had saved his life and the first time he'd heard the name Moriarty pass someone's lips. The professor who had beat him. The one who had conveniently made use of Sherlock's inside demons, luring him into addiction and self-destruction. The chase seemed so far away now, but he couldn't help think about it every day, knowing that the man was alive and walking around freely.

It made his jaw clench and his fingers itch.

* * *

Sherlock found Olivia in the darkened storage room, curled up on the couch and fast asleep. He approached her carefully, so as not to startle her. She was resting on her side, facing the room, knees drawn up towards her chest, one hand underneath her head and one lying against her collarbone. Her face had a pained expression and he saw her eyebrows move from time to time, but her breath was deep and slow.

Her innocence caused the anger he'd felt from his memory of Moriarty to fade away instantly. He was doing better now. He hadn't used in months, and was actually learning to connect to people.

"Olivia."

"Olivia, wake up."

Olivia felt a warm hand on her shoulder, gently rocking her out of her sleep. She desperately didn't want to wake up from that peaceful world, and buried her face in the warm cushion with an agitated moan.

"Come on, open your eyes."

When the realization struck her that it was not Mr Watson's voice calling her, she tensed instantly. Turning her head back to its original position, she saw professor Holmes through her eyelashes, sitting on the coffee table next to her. He was leaning slightly forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The room was still dark and there was nobody else with him.

Still in a drowsy state, her brain linked the sound of his voice to that of a cello as the deep tones vibrated through her head.

Slowly she focused and could make out words.

"You will have to get up at some point, or do you want to spend the night here?" His tone was impatient but a little amused.

She stretched her limbs with a yawn and opened her eyes properly to find him curiously observing her. She was too sleepy to really care what he saw, though. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, not knowing whether she should be embarrassed or not.

Seeing that she was slightly more conscious, Sherlock stood up and held out a hand. Olivia grasped it to be pulled up, but she did not offer any resistance and when she got to her feet, softly bumped into his chest. Her head lolled and landed against the soft fabric of his shirt. His arm found its way around her shoulders to steady her. Her nose picked up the smell of soap, chalk, and cigarettes. It felt so comfortable and warm that she closed her eyes and almost fell back asleep as she stood there.

When he spoke she could feel the vibrations of his chest against her ear.

"Olivia."

She mumbled something about a cello Sherlock couldn't understand. He looked down and saw her eyes close again.

A strange sensation took hold of him. The fact that she didn't feel the need to wake up convinced him that she felt quite comfortable in his arms. He felt pride at winning at least part of her trust. What was strange was that he noticed he didn't mind her closeness. There was none of that itchy agitation he felt when most people touched him. No sudden need to walk away. He actually had to suppress the urge to press her against him tighter.

Instead, he smiled.

"Seriously, I'm not carrying you."

She sighed and lifted her head up from his chest to balance herself on her feet.

"Good."

Sherlock took hold of her arm to make sure she wouldn't stumble, and they walked downstairs.

John had just finished his call when they passed his office. He saw Olivia with messy hair, looking a bit dazed, and knew all too well where Sherlock had found her. Usually it was him who woke her up before he left for home. He noticed that it happened more often these days, compared to before the holidays, and made a mental note to try and reach her father again.

"Thanks, Sherlock. Olivia, is everything alright?" he asked as he locked the door to his office.

"Yes, fine," she said as she stifled another yawn.

"Good to know. Now go and get your coat. I'm locking up. Do you need a ride home?"

Olivia's eyes opened a bit wider and she froze for a moment. Then she said, "No thank you, I like walking. Its not far."

She turned around to get her coat, regrettably leaving the warmth of Mr Holmes' side.

"Should we tell her about Eric?" Sherlock wondered when she was gone.

"Peter didn't take it too well. It might be better to prepare her before she's confronted with the boys on Monday", John agreed.

However, before they could warn Olivia about anything, they heard the door at the front entrance shut and saw the girl wrapped up in her coat walking quickly towards the gate, into the windy street.

"Too late", Sherlock said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'll take that ride, though."

* * *

Olivia spent most of that Saturday in bed. Normally she would get up around 9 am, shower, make some breakfast, do the dishes, tidy up the house, do the laundry, buy as many groceries she could carry to last the week, and cook dinner. Sundays she tried to reserve for homework as much as she could.

But today she just needed sleep. The week's events had been more tiring than ever, with too many things to worry about and too many things to be excited about.

She cocooned in her sheets and closed herself off from the outside world. The warm, soft fabric reminded her of her professor. Even though she had been half asleep, she could remember his steady breathing, the warmth of his body around her, and his calm voice that had hummed gently to her. She blushed at the thought that she might have said things to him in her sleep. She was not even sure.

Mr Holmes was still a complete mystery. Very often he was strict and harsh to his pupils, annoyed about every mistake they made and making very clear that their brain cells were nothing more than sawdust compared to his. In those moments he was like an eagle spreading its wings, high in the air, aiming for defenceless –and often actually trembling- prey.

At other times he seemed to enjoy their company, smiling when they tried to counter his arguments in class, or making jokes (usually at the expense of Mr Anderson, which nobody minded). It was only a few times that she had seen him act truly kind and gentle, and that was when he was alone with her. It made her want to trust him.

However, she wondered if his kindness was genuine, or if it was just because he was supposed to keep an eye on her, especially now he was her mentor. She didn't want to lie to herself and create a false sense of safety. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he would tell on her if he got too close to the truth.

Still, she felt a thrill when she thought about his gaze on her legs when he had come to get his furniture. It was that certain look men sometimes have when a woman catches their attention. That look she recognized from her dad when her mother had worn one of those tempting dresses for her evening job. Her mother's dresses were never very short or very tight, but they had shown her figure. She was a folk singer, so she fitted her clothes to that genre, often wearing earthy colours or flowery prints. She'd looked beautiful in whatever she wore, but her dad had always seemed to touch and kiss her more when she put on a dress like that.

Anthony got the same look when she smiled at him, or just before he kissed her cheek, which happened quite often now. His stares excited her and raised her curiosity about what would happen if she kissed him properly.

Nevertheless, when that tall man with those scrutinizing eyes had looked at her in _that_ way, it had sent a shiver down her spine that instantly hardened her nipples. It had never happened to her before, and when he'd asked her to stay in his office half an hour later, she hadn't felt it again.

She ultimately decided it would probably not be wise to consider her teacher in such a sexual light, and that Anthony was a much safer and uncomplicated person to focus her attentions on.

She dozed in bed like this for hours, while she heard her father stumble about downstairs, having to take care of his own breakfast, trying to find his shoes, going to the corner shop, coming back with several bottles, switching on the telly.

Sometime in the afternoon Olivia felt her stomach start to grumble and decided it was time to get up. She tiptoed to the bathroom and carefully locked the door. Earlier that week, her father had suddenly appeared in the doorway while she was showering. He had stared at her, completely transfixed. Immediately she'd had tried to cover herself and yelled at him to go away, but it had taken him a while to realise that he was doing something inappropriate. He'd looked embarrassed, apologised, and hurriedly left.

Her dad didn't mention his transgression later, but she noticed that he was embarrassed so decided not to confront him. She did feel entitled to a bit of privacy, so reminded herself to always lock the bathroom door from then on.

* * *

On Monday she felt a little bit more energised from all the sleep se had had, and walked to school with a very quiet Peter. His shoulders were slumped and he didn't take his eyes off his feet. After some probing on her part he told her that Mr Watson had called to say that Eric had not been expelled and that all of the boys who attacked him would be back at school today. He was visibly afraid.

Olivia couldn't believe it. Mr Watson had basically promised not to let Eric come back to school when she had talked to him. Immediately, many questions popped up in her mind. Would they be in their class again? Had Eric learned anything from his suspension, or only that he could actually get away with terrorising his peers? Would he go after Peter the moment he saw him? She knew Peter was worrying about the same things.

When they arrived at school, Ms Donovan, Peter's mentor, approached them and asked him to come with her for a chat. He gladly did, because it meant postponing his confrontation with Eric.

Olivia was met by a chaste kiss on the cheek from Anthony. He looked handsome as ever and they held hands as they walked to class. As they walked through the hallways, she figured that all their classmates would think that she was his girlfriend by now. It wasn't actually clear to her if that was the case, but she didn't mind the thought.

As they entered the classroom she immediately spotted Billy and Eric sitting in the front row. Billy looked at his desk and seemed to try to disappear in his seat. Eric eyed her with a smug, arrogant expression, indicating that nothing had changed about his attitude. Her eyes flicked from Billy, to Eric, to Mr Holmes, who was sitting behind his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, sporting a positively murderous expression.

* * *

Sherlock felt disgusted that he couldn't simply refuse to teach specimens like Eric Walker, and couldn't bear to watch Olivia's face as she noticed Peter's assaulter.

He'd been able to turn his anger over the board's decision into something productive this weekend. He had asked John for the key to the school and moved some stuff into his new office. Most of it was things he didn't really need at school, but which made it feel like it was his office and helped him think. In other words, his office now was a tiny version of 221B Baker Street's sitting room, including books, rug, armchair, and skull.

The activity had also given him some inspiration for a new experiment, prompting him to call Molly on Sunday. It had taken a long phone conversation and many promises to persuade her to give him a severed arm. Molly Hooper had moved on and was not as love-struck with him as she used to be, but she still had weak spots.

Another long weekend survived.

* * *

Olivia didn't realise that that she had been holding Anthony's hand the whole time, until she let go of it as she got to her desk. She sat down next to Rose, who was staring at the back of Eric's head and had a similarly hateful expression on her face as Mr Holmes.

The class started with him handing them back their marked exams. Nobody had expected him to have them marked this quickly, and the room tensed immediately as people prepared themselves for a disappointment. Mr Holmes passed the tables, dropping the sheets of paper without saying a word. As they read their results one by one, the tension eased a bit, because most people had passed.

Olivia was satisfied with her B mark, but after reading his comments she was less so. Almost every answer had grammatical or structural corrections that didn't all count for the result, but made the whole thing look like a failure. He wrote things like "Absolutely ridiculous", "WRONG", and "Have you even _read the question?_?"

Lucy, sitting in front of her, chuckled. She showed her a comment that simply said: "BORING".

However, all four of them had passed, and Rose even got an A-, the highest mark in the class.

The rest of the time was spent asking questions about the exam. Some pupils tried to get Sherlock to change his mind about their mark by arguing for the brilliance of their theories, which only made him grumpier. Towards the end of the class he even threatened to lower their mark if they didn't stop bothering him with nonsense.

"Keep the noise to a minimum when you leave" he snapped at them when time was up. He was about to ask Billy Mitchell to stay behind to have a chat about his absences, but noticed that the boy had already sprinted out the door. Sherlock resolved to approach him at a later time.

* * *

After class, Olivia, Peter and Rose were at the lockers to exchange their science books for English, when Billy came up to them. He was hesitant, fumbling with his hands and not looking them in the eye. They waited for him to start talking, which he was hardly able to do.

"Hi. Ehm… I… I just… I didn't mean to… I'm sorry for…" he mumbled. "…didn't want anyone to get hurt… I'm sorry." He glanced up to see their reaction and was relieved to see neutral faces instead of hateful ones.

"Thanks," Peter said.

"Maybe it's better not to listen to everything Eric says," Rose suggested with an edge to her voice.

Olivia saw the boy panic a little.

"At least you're sorry," she said to him.

He nodded remorsefully. "I am. I swear."

As he said it, Eric's loud voice disturbed their conversation and Billy visibly winced.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, talking to these fags?"

Eric was walking towards them with broadened shoulders and an intimidatingly angry face. He resembled a big aggressive dog watching a cat. When he reached them he gave Billy a hard punch in the shoulder. The smaller boy was almost blown to the ground and whimpered in pain.

"Don't _ever_ talk to them again. Or I'll tell your dad you're one of them, got it?"

Billy quickly nodded and didn't dare look at any of them as he followed his best friend around the corner.

* * *

The next day it became clear exactly what kind of impossible position Billy was in.

Olivia and Rose were hurrying to their maths class on the first floor, when they saw Eric kicking a door, which was shaking in its hinges. It was the broom closet next to the boys' toilets.

"You are _so_ _dead_ Mitchell!" He kept kicking and hitting the door with flat hands, causing a racket. "Do you always screw over your friends? Do you think you're dad will keep you alive when he hears what I have to say? Might as well tell him that his son is a fucking gay, too!"

As there continued to be no answer to his abuse, Eric gave one last kick against the door and stormed off in the direction of the stairs.

Olivia and Rose approached the broom closet and knocked softly. The only thing that betrayed Billy's presence behind it was the sob he wasn't able to silence. Olivia tried to sound as gentle as possible when she spoke.

"Billy?"

Silence.

"Are you alright?"

No response.

"This is Olivia and Rose, can we come in? Eric's left."

After a while, the door opened slightly. Billy had removed the broom from under the door handle, which he had put there to barricade himself against the raging Eric. He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with his back against the wall.

He didn't look up but Olivia could see he was crying. She stepped into the small, dark space to sit down next to him while Rose stayed at the door. It smelled of dust and detergents.

"Why is Eric so angry with you?" she asked.

When Billy spoke his voice sounded choked.

"He found out I said some things in my… my statement for Mr W-Watson about him and Holmes."

"Well… was it true?"

"What?" He rubbed his red eyes with the palms of his hands.

"What you said, was it the truth?"

"Yes."

"Then you shouldn't be in any trouble. You can go and talk to Mr Watson if you like. He's nice."

Billy shook his head furiously.

"No! You don't get it. Our fathers are friends. They told us what we were supposed to say to Mr Watson."

"They told you to lie?"

Billy nodded and Olivia didn't know what to say. It was unbelievable to her that a parent would tell you to lie about something so important. She lied for her dad, but he never told her to do so. It was silent for a little while.

"If Eric tells my dad all those things, he'll kill me."

Olivia frowned, again not able to believe that a parent could do such a thing.

"I'm sure he won't."

She saw him look away and shake his head.

"You don't know that."

"What do you mean?"

Billy buried his face in his hands and whispered something that made the hairs on Olivia's neck rise.

* * *

Sherlock was at his desk, marking essays written by class 5A. Not the brainiest of groups, as it became apparent. It exasperated him to think that all these people would be released into society soon. He would recommend 24-hour supervision, based on what they'd written. His comments were getting ruder as he worked his way through the pile. He was relieved to hear someone knock at his door, hoping to be provided with some distraction.

He was surprised to see Rose appear in the doorway. She looked relieved to find him in his office.

"Miss Edeson."

"Sir, could you help? We ehm… we found Billy Mitchell in a broom closet. I think he needs help. You're his mentor, so I thought-"

"Does he need a doctor?" Sherlock interrupted while getting up.

"No, just… something's wrong… with his dad."

As Rose took him to the aforementioned broom closet, she gave him a short recap of what had happened.

Sherlock had gone through Mr Burke's notes on Billy. He had recorded an increasing number of absences of the boy. Burke had not, however, asked Billy about it, called his parents, or raised the issue with John, which gave cause for concern.

He regretted not talking to Billy yesterday. The boy had moved with difficulty and he could tell there was something wrong with him. He shouldn't have let him go that easily.

When he opened the door to the closet, he saw Olivia sitting next to Billy on the floor, squeezed in between lots of cleaning supplies. She was sitting with her knees drawn up, stroking his arm as his shoulders shook from crying.

Olivia saw Mr Holmes' tall, silhouetted frame appear as the light fell in. She expected him to tell them to get up and come to his office, but he surprised her once again.

"May I come in?" he asked.

Billy didn't respond, and Olivia didn't think it was up to her to answer. Sherlock didn't wait and stepped inside to sit down opposite them, folding his legs in the tiny space that was still available between Billy, Olivia and the cleaning supplies. He felt ridiculously big for the closet, but guessed that in this self-created safe place, it would be easier to get Billy to talk than it would be in his office.

He let his eyes get accustomed to the dark and observed that Billy was not the only one crying. Olivia too, had tears running down her face.

"Why are _you_ crying?" he asked, not able to disguise his surprise.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I Feel sad for Billy."

Sherlock nodded. He knew people did that sometimes; cry for other people's pain. He figured you'd be crying all the time if you let yourself feel so much. Still, he knew he needed to try and imagine what Billy must be thinking if he wanted to get through to him.

"Billy".

Billy looked up, and saw that the person calling his name was not the angry man who had been scowling at him in class yesterday, but the face of someone who was genuinely interested in why he was crying.

"You know that Mr Burke was fired, and that I will be your mentor from now on."

Billy swallowed and nodded.

"I would like to know what's upsetting you."

The boy looked at a bucket that was standing in the corner, avoiding Holmes' gaze.

Sherlock could see from Olivia's face that Billy had told her something, but it would be wrong to ask her to speak for him.

"Olivia. You and Rose should go to your class. If they ask why you're late, refer them to me."

She nodded and got up, careful not to step on anyone as she made her way to the door. She was well aware of the battle that Billy was fighting right now. He had been trying to cover up the evidence for God knows how long that it would be extremely hard to give it up so suddenly. He desperately wanted help but was afraid of what would happen to his family.

As they made their way to maths Olivia hoped that Mr Holmes would treat Billy just as kindly as he treated her when she was alone with him.

* * *

"Can you tell me why you don't come to school very often?"

"I get ill," the boy squeaked in the semi-dark.

"Yes, most of the times you were absent your mother has called in sick for you. But you're not really ill, are you?"

Sherlock saw how the boy dreaded what was coming. Everything about his body language confirmed his previous suspicions.

"Look, Billy, I think I know… what is happening to you. I know you are in pain right at this moment."

Billy looked as if he was about to bolt for the door.

"You don't have to tell me everything. I just need to know for certain who it is… Your dad right?"

Sherlock tilted his head and traced a finger through the dust on the floor, trying to ease the tension.

"I-I can't…." Billy couldn't get the words out, and Sherlock saw tears form in his eyes again. He knew he needed to be careful.

"You must be frightened of him, which I understand. Can you tell me how often it happens?"

"W-weekends… mostly." Billy shut his eyes tightly, hugging his knees with his arms, wishing he could stop time so this wouldn't have to happen. He wanted to speak, but his father's hands had silenced him.

Sherlock rested the back of his head against the cold wall.

"Does your mother know about what he does?"

"Y-yes butsh-she…you can't-… he will…h-hurt her."

"I understand. So he hurts the both of you?"

Billy was crying properly now, scared to death. Not able to answer his question.

For a while it was silent in the room; only Billy's hitched breath breaking the silence once in a while. Sherlock watched the dust particles dance in the narrow beam of light that came through the crack in the door. He tried to think of a way to get the information he needed.

"Can I see your right arm?" he finally asked.

The boy looked up at him again, and for a moment Sherlock expected him to run. But it turned out to have been the right question.

Billy slowly unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, and started rolling up his sleeve. It turned out that it was easier for him to show than tell.

Underneath the white fabric, his skin was torn in several places, he had bruises on his wrists and two marks which, as far as Sherlock could see in the low lighting, had the shape of cigar burns. He didn't want to imagine what the rest of the boy's body looked like, and cursed himself for not deducing this the first time Billy had walked into class with that limp.

His mind started racing. The next step was to make sure more people knew about this. Gather evidence. He needed to get him out of this closet.

"That looks painful, Billy. I think it would be good if Mrs Watson looked at those cuts for you."

Billy looked hesitant. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"I have to, Billy. And even if I didn't have to… we will make sure this doesn't happen again."

"No you can't! _Please_ don't. My dad won't stop. Ever." The boy was practically begging him and Sherlock felt a strange sadness spread in his stomach.

"Of course we can make him stop. And stop him from hurting your mum, too. We should do that, don't you think?"

Deep down, Billy knew that this was the only right thing to do, and for the first time there was a grownup offering to help him out. While part of his brain was screaming no, he nodded yes to Sherlock, who promptly helped him up.

He brought Billy to Mary's office before he could change his mind. She took him into the exam room and was extremely gentle with him.

While she started to examine the boy's arms, Sherlock left and went to find John, who basically lost it when he heard.

"I've talked to that man multiple times! He even came to the last soccer tournament to fucking cheer for the boy. I bloody never noticed a thing! How did… I can't… Jesus Christ." John ranted while he paced his office.

"It's another case in which Burke failed John, not you. You can't know everything about everyone. People lie. All the time."

John wanted to see Billy, so they went back to Mary's office. They stepped in just as she was finished the examination. She told the boy to get dressed and wait in the exam room for a moment. When she came into the office her calm exterior faded and she looked as if she was about to cry.

"How bad is it?" John asked. His voice strained a bit.

"Oh John, he-… his whole body is covered in bruises and burns. His father has been using hard objects to beat him with. We should take him to hospital."

Again, Sherlock felt his own sadness for the boy in his stomach, but tried to concentrate on his hatred for Mr Mitchell instead.

He turned to John.

"You have to call Lestrade. They will need to take pictures of his injuries. He can't go home either, not until they've arrested the father." He rattled to him as he was preparing to leave.

"Sherlock-…" John tried.

"You should ask him if you can reach his mother somewhere without her husband knowing. I will go to their house and confront the man."

John stopped and grabbed Sherlock's arm to get his full attention.

"Sherlock, _no_. I need to handle this and you need to stay here. You will have to trust the police to arrest him. You've done brilliantly, thank you, but this is where it ends for now. I appreciate you wanting to help, I really do."

He paused and looked him in the eye.

"I do get the feeling that part of you just wants to run into danger. I'm not letting you take that risk. You're doing really well here, and I need you to keep doing that."

Sherlock was ready to snap something rude back and storm out, but realised his friend was partly right, so he controlled himself and just nodded.

"Good, I'll call in to let you know what's going on. You have two other classes to teach. Also, I need you to take over and show a new staff member around, if you don't mind. Finally found a theatre teacher. His name's Richard Brook and he'll be here at 4 pm."

* * *

**Thank you for reading! More chapters coming soon.**


	11. Richard

**Hi everybody! **

**Sorry for the irregularity of my updates. I simply don't have a steady routine and don't always know when I will have time to write.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Next one is almost finished :)**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock, not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 11: Richard  
**

Sherlock understood why John didn't let him come along. Billy needed reliable people to handle this, not somebody looking for adrenaline, and he knew that at that moment he was more of the latter than the first. It would be unfair to the kid. So, he decided not to be difficult and give the new guy the bloody tour.

When Sherlock went to fetch him, about 10 minutes after 4pm, he was seated in the little waiting area with Ms Stevenson. The rather young man in a nice suit gave him a friendly smile. He got up and extended his hand.

"Hi, you must be Sherlock Holmes. Richard Brook. Nice to meet you."

Sherlock shook his hand and sized him up.

_Irish, 32 years old, gay, professor, expensive car, two cats, single, Bee Gees fan, highly intelligent, and rather attractive, if one believes in conventional standards of beauty._

"John told me he had to accompany one of the pupils to hospital. Very tragic."

"Yes, it certainly is." Sherlock started walking along the corridor.

"He's one of your mentor pupils, isn't he? Must really have some trust in you to open up like that," Richard said to his back as he followed.

"Did John tell you all of that?"

"Oh yes, he speaks about you a lot. The times we've met, he did. You must be good friends." Richard had caught up and said it with the slightest twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes. Yes we are."

Sherlock led the slightly shorter man through the school and showed him the essential rooms including the big theatre room, a place he'd only been once himself. Richard seemed rather indifferent to the space but kept asking him questions about the pupils, his teaching methods, his previous work. Sherlock answered politely but minimally. He knew better than to open up to strangers, especially intelligent ones. It irritated him that the man was so completely comfortable and relaxed in his surroundings; something Sherlock still couldn't completely manage after all these weeks.

He could see why John had hired Richard, though. He was gentle, kind, and intelligent and seemed to know a lot about kids. He had a constant dreamy smile on his face, which he guessed would make him very approachable for the pupils.

Lastly, he showed him Burke's old office, which was a couple of doors from his own.

"Lovely. Thank you so much, Sherlock. I'm happy to have met you. Looking forward to seeing a lot more of you."

Sherlock straightened his shoulders.

"Right."

He gave Richard a curt nod and walked out.

The man elicited a strange feeling in Sherlock. Richard had a pleasant demeanour, very well versed, attractive, one might say, but he could sense some sort of hidden agenda.

Later, when he was back in his own office, he came to the realisation that Brook had been flirting with him.

* * *

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Lu-and-Lihiv. Happy birthday to you!"

Together, Lucy and Olivia blew out the single candle their friends had stuck into the pink frosted cupcake. They had gathered with Rose, Anthony and Peter in room 221 before classes started, to celebrate Lucy's birthday, which was today, and Olivia's, which would be on Saturday. Both of them turned 15.

Lucy's mum had baked cupcakes for her daughter to share, and Rose had brought the candle. Now they were happily squeezed together on the couches, discussing Lucy's party, which would be happening on Saturday night.

"My parents have booked a long weekend away to Mallorca, and completely trust me and Dylan to behave until they get back," she grinned. "We've been stacking up booze in his room since the holidays!"

Anthony smiled. "You two are wicked, and I like it. Can't wait! Nobody's parents will leave them alone long enough to do something like this, yours are so bloody easy!"

"My dad thinks that buying me a horse will keep the boys away for another 5 years. Obviously he's wrong." Lucy said.

Olivia sat listening happily, eating her cupcake, with Anthony pressed closely against her side. It was fun sharing Lucy's anticipation about the party, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to go. Her father would never let her go out alone at night.

Rose frowned at Lucy. "What will your parents do when they find out? They're bound to notice something, aren't they?"

"They're not very keen on details. And if they do find out we had a party, we will make sure they don't find out about the alcohol. I don't think they will punish us just for inviting friends. Provided we haven't set anything on fire." she giggled.

They noticed somebody fumble with the lock. Mr Watson's voice could be heard through the door. "In here you'll find everything we have in terms of furniture. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks John, I really appreciate it," said man with an Irish accent. The door opened and a good-looking gentleman came in. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he noticed the group of pupils.

He smiled.

"Hi there. Am I interrupting a party?"

He didn't seem suspicious at all as to what they were doing. They were suspicious as to why _he_ was there, though.

Five pairs of eyes narrowed at him.

"Hello to you. Are you our new teacher?" Lucy asked.

"Yes I am. Richard Brook, pleasure to meet you. I've been told this is the place to be for furniture, and celebrations, apparently. Good to know."

He got a few hesitant smiles at that.

"We're in class 3B," said Olivia.

"Ah, great! Wednesdays and Fridays, I believe? I won't start teaching until next week, but make sure you have done the scheduled reading by then." He smiled and winked at Olivia, who tensed for a moment as she thought about the pile of reading she had neglected for past couple of weeks.

Rose, pokerfaced, was the next one to speak.

"Well Mr Brook, it's nice to meet you too. Just to make some things clear in advance: yes, this is the place to be for furniture, but we don't do moving. We are busy."

Mr Brook had a glint in his eye as he listened to Rose. He still had an amused expression on his face.

"Oh don't you worry young lady! I wasn't planning to use you as my slaves, just because I have the power to fail you." he chuckled.

"Will you be directing the school play?" Peter asked.

"As a matter of fact I am. I'll let you vote on which play you will perform, but we will discuss that in class. I believe there is the Christmas performance we have to worry about first, though."

Mr Brook turned and looked at the chaotic pile of abandoned furniture for a moment.

"I'll help you." Anthony said, and went over to him.

"Lovely, thank you." Richard beamed at him.

Together they started carrying a desk out of the room.

When they were gone, Lucy whistled through her teeth. "I just discovered I LOVE Irish accents."

"Gay," Rose drawled, leaning her back into the couch.

"No! Don't spoil it! Let me admire him in peace," Lucy complained.

"Oh God please, he could not be more obviously gay. Peter should be the one to get all excited."

Peter, who was sat next to her, blushed.

"And, by the way, you can still admire him in peace. There's just no chance that he will try to 'abuse his position of power' with you, as you –disturbingly- seem to fantasize about," Rose snapped.

"You've been wrong before!" Lucy went on.

"That was before John got off with Mary! And I still think he's bi," she huffed.

"Yes, just like Donovan is bi, and Holmes is bi, and every other person you can't figure out, is bi."

"They are! And Holmes is… _complicated_. He doesn't comply to institutionalised categories of sexual orientation, which is quite admirable."

"Your opinion of him seems to have altered very quickly since last week. I clearly remember you calling him a jerk. Could it have something to do with the A he gave you on the exam?" Lucy mocked.

"How do you know all that, anyway? He might be married," Peter wondered.

"He doesn't wear a ring," Olivia contributed unexpectedly.

Three heads turned towards her.

"_Somebody_ has been paying attention," Rose said, smiling wickedly.

Olivia blushed. "Don't look at me like that, most people think he's… nice looking," she defended herself.

"And what is happening between you and Anthony these days?" Rose asked.

Olivia was thankful for the change of subject.

"Nothing really. He says he wants to kiss me, though," she said thoughtfully.

"Do you want to?" Rose was studying her intently.

"I think so. I just don't know when or where, or how," she sighed.

"It's not very complicated Liv. Just stick your tongue in his mouth and he'll be happy. You're fifteen already, you should get some experience before boys start asking for more than kisses." Lucy said and stuck out her tongue.

Olivia laughed. "Stop it! I'm sure it will happen soon. Anthony has been very sweet."

They were laughing at Lucy's imitation of Anthony gaping at Olivia when the door opened forcefully and Mr Holmes strode into the room.

They're laughs faded.

Olivia noticed that his aristocratic features gave him a regal look when he was angry.

She saw his eyes drift over the cakes and the candle on the coffee table.

"You are 15 minutes late to class. Don't you have a bloody watch?"

No one dared to reply.

He jerked his head as a sign for them to come with him, seemingly uninterested as to what they had been doing.

They started getting up and gathering their belongings.

"We weren't looking at the time, sorry sir!" Lucy said cheerfully as she approached him with the box of cupcakes.

"It's me and Olivia's birthday this week, so my mum made these. Would you like one?" she held them up to him.

Most pupils would not have dared approach Mr Holmes like that when he was in such a foul mood.

The tall man looked down at her smiling face and then into the box. He grimaced at the alarming shade of pink icing.

"No. Now get to biology quickly or I will take a point off your next exam marks. Try not to poison yourselves on the way."

They moved passed him to get to the door quickly. He took another look at Lucy from behind and snapped "And just because it happens to be your birthday, Miss Griffin, it doesn't mean you don't have to comply to the dress rules of this school."

The birthday girl looked over her shoulder innocently, but then sighed dramatically and unfolded her skirt at the waistband to lengthen it.

As Olivia walked towards Mr Holmes to get through the door, she looked up at him and her eyes met his icy stare for a second. As she passed him, she felt him follow closely behind. She felt the touch of his fingers on her lower back. His hand lingered there for a few seconds, giving her Goosebumps.

Even though he had hardly touched her, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her back long after she had sat down in biology class.

* * *

As promised, on Thursday Sherlock had prepared another of his practical examples for class 3B. He was just about to show the police report when someone knocked at the door.

"What do you want?" he snapped as Richard Brook entered the room, his hands up as if to apologise for intruding.

"Good morning! Mr Holmes, if you don't mind, I would love to sit in on your class. From what I've heard it can be very impressive and I thought I might be inspired by your teaching methods. I'd understand if you prefer me to leave. Some teacher's get uncomfortable when observed by their peers." Richard gave him a warm smile.

Sherlock peered at him for a moment. He had some nerve, that man. It was clever to ask this in front of his entire class. Refusing would definitely make him look either rude or insecure compared to the already popular Mr Brook. Normally he didn't are at all what the pupils might think of him, but he felt a strange competitiveness towards Richard. The only course of action was to let him watch.

"Sit at the back, don't interrupt."

"Thanks! I'm sure I can learn a lot from observing you."

There were a few giggles at that comment, which died immediately as Sherlock cleared his throat.

Richard greeted some of the pupils he'd already met as he went to find a seat in the back row.

"Mr Garrison, turn down the lights."

Sherlock returned to the projector to start the slides, when someone else interrupted him.

"Why hasn't Billy been at school since Monday first period?" It was Joan who had asked, and she seemed to have asked something the entire class was curious about.

"Eric Walker is still here, so why not him?"

Sherlock had not expected such an interest in the boy from the other pupils, but figured he would need to give some sort of explanation for their classmate's sudden disappearance.

"Billy's absence has nothing to do with what happened here at school. He's been having some trouble at home, and will be back as soon as possible," he said, hoping they would accept it.

"What's wrong at home, then?"

"You should not be nosy, Miss Davies. Trust me that the situation is under control. You can ask Billy himself when he get's back. Or maybe you shouldn't, come to think of it. Anyway, Let's get started."

Billy and his mother had been told to stay at home for a while. His father had lost it completely when they had come to arrest him. He had threatened to kill his wife. He was locked up and the investigation was running. Billy refused to leave his mother's side and they had agreed that he could stay home for a while, until things had calmed down.

Olivia and Rose kept their mouths shut. They hadn't told anyone about what Billy had said in the broom closet, knowing he wouldn't want them to. Olivia knew what it was like when everyone knew about your personal tragedy, and she was happy that people didn't give her those pitiful looks anymore, like they had when she first got back to school. She tried not to show her grief in public, so that it wouldn't be the first thing they thought about when they saw her. She imagined Billy wanted the same.

However, Olivia was completely unprepared for what she would be confronted with today.

Sherlock started the projector and switched it to the first image. The now familiar form of a police report was shown.

"Woman, mid thirties, stabbed to death…."

That was all she heard. All other noises in the room faded away as she stared at the image. For a moment she was afraid that a picture of her mother would appear, covering the entire wall. Her heart started beating furiously in her chest and her lips pressed together.

The picture that appeared was not of her mother. Even though the woman's face wasn't visible she saw immediately that it was not. She let out a gasp of air, hardly audibly through the chatter that had erupted in the classroom.

Rose was quite sure what was going through her friend's mind and kept a close eye on her.

Sherlock showed the type of knife that was used to create such wound pattern. He let them figure out how it was possible that the victim had hardly lost any blood.

Olivia didn't pay any attention. All she saw was her mother. The stab wounds were ugly and brutal, with ragged skin at the edges, as if someone had turned the blade while pulling it out. Never had she seen her mother's wounds. Her father hadn't let her. She had no idea of what it had looked like, and had kept an undamaged version of her mother in her memory. Until today.

She imagined the knife slicing through skin, through her lungs, coughing up blood. Her shoulders started trembling as she stared at the image that had reappeared on the wall for the class to examine. She didn't notice Rose raising her hand, or Mr Holmes approaching her desk. The hand on her shoulder pulled her from her panicked visions.

She startled and looked up. His face was hazy and that was when she realised her tears.

Sherlock had known when he saw Olivia's eyes fixated on the image and Rose's warning expression as she raised her hand. He hadn't known before. It was not stated in her file and he cursed himself for not asking anyone. He also cursed the fact that Richard Brook was watching so closely.

"Do you want to go outside?" he asked softly. Olivia nodded.

He let her gather her things and followed her through the door, which he closed, ignoring the excited chatter of the class.

"Olivia, look at me for a moment. I'm sorry this happened. I should have known about your mother."

She didn't respond to him, just looked at the wall.

"Will you wait for me in 221?" he asked, and he saw her head bob in a tiny nod. Then she quickly turned away from him and literally ran towards the staircase.

Sherlock refused to look at Richard when he re-entered the room, but felt his inquisitive gaze. He continued the lesson, but was only second-guessing whether he should just leave and see if Olivia was alright. He had not meant to upset her in any way, but it surprised him that it bothered him so much. Normally he was unsympathetic to anyone who couldn't handle a relatively 'normal' crime scene such as this. He had a suspicion that this had something to do with sentiment, or even worse, _empathy_.

* * *

He was the first to leave when the bell finally rang. Leaping up the stairs, hoping to somehow reverse the events of the last hour.

He still had the key of room 221 John had given him, and although he wasn't sure it was allowed, used it to lock the door behind him. He suspected there would be worried classmates looking to see Olivia, but he wanted her to himself for a moment.

She was sitting on the couch with her legs drawn up, fumbling with a handkerchief. Her eyes were swollen and red, and he felt another pang of guilt in his stomach as she glared at him. Silently, he sat down next to her.

"Did Mr Watson not tell you?" Her voice sounded a bit raw from crying.

"He didn't, and somehow the details also didn't make it into your file, which I have read, of course. Did Mr Burke not know?"

"Never asked me."

"Well… I would say that he screwed up, but I didn't ask either, did I?"

"You mean you screwed up?" her mouth formed a tiny smile at that.

"I'm afraid I'll have to admit to that."

She was quiet while she thought.

"You were very nice to Billy, so I think that that makes up for it," she decided. He didn't say anything but she saw he was relieved to be forgiven.

For a while they sat together in silence, and her thoughts drifted back to the stabbed woman.

"I didn't know it looked like that," she said, without looking at him. "I never saw it".

"It doesn't always look like that… Would you rather not know?"

"I don't know. I want to understand what happened to her. I just-…" her voice broke "…I don't want to forget the way she was... before."

She turned her head towards him now, resting it on her knees. He was leaning with his side against the backrest, his body turned towards her.

"You want a pleasant memory of you mother. I guess that is perfectly understandable. I'm sorry I ruined it."

"Do you have any pictures of her?"

She nodded. "She was very beautiful-..." Her breath hitched and new tears started coming, which she tried to get rid of by rubbing her eyes with her palm.

"I can imagine she was."

He could imagine. Olivia's features were lovely, and he knew she didn't get them from her father. He had a sudden urge to run his hands through her hair. It was remarkable how she elicited these small urges in him.

There was another silence before her soft voice cut through the dry air in the room.

"I wish she wasn't dead."

Even though she stated the obvious, her hardly audible whisper reached right into him and made him wish the same. He stretched out his arm and moved his head to beckon her towards him. To his surprise, she did.

Olivia put her trust in him completely. She shifted her legs underneath her and scooted over so that her side was resting against him. His arm fell around her shoulder protectively. Carefully, she placed her head on his chest.

"Sometimes I cry a lot. I'm sorry," she sniffed.

He shushed her, to let her know he didn't mind. He couldn't help it now and let his hand run through her hair. It felt soft and tickly between his fingers. The soothing gesture calmed her, and once again she was astonished that her teacher could be so kind and patient. She listened to his heartbeat for a while, and slowly her eyes closed.

Sherlock enjoyed the feeling of being able to sooth another human being and felt her breathing slow down until she was asleep. The warmth of her body and the soft couch felt rather comfortable, and slowly followed her into unconsciousness.

He never heard the key turn in the lock, nor the footsteps coming towards them. He never felt the fingertips trace along his exposed neck, and his brain didn't register the soft chuckle in his ear.

"_She's weakened you, Sherlock Holmes. And I am going to see you dance."_

* * *

**Jim is in the house! **

**Let me know what you think or if you have any suggestions! It is always lovely to hear from you :)**


	12. First kiss

**Thanks to everyone who has followed/favourited this story so far! Love you!**

**This is a short chapter before Olivia's birthday.**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: First Kiss**

What John found when he unlocked the door to 221 would be forever engraved in his mind.

Sherlock was asleep, leaning heavily in the backrest of the couch, his head lolled a bit to the side and his arm was wrapped around Olivia, who was snuggled into a tiny ball next to him. His left hand was resting securely on her upper arm.

John couldn't believe that this was the same Sherlock who cringed when people touched him, who mocked every kind of sentiment, and who had refused, just weeks before, to engage with any pupil outside the classroom.

He knew his friend had been trying harder after the incident with Peter. Helping Billy was an indication that Sherlock was doing rather well. John, however, had no idea that he had managed to gain Olivia's trust so completely. Of course, he wouldn't describe this as the most professional way to deal with upset pupils, but it made him feel very proud.

He stood there for a while, knowing he would have to wake them up but hesitant to disturb them. Both had classes to attend and John was quite certain that if anyone discovered them like this, there would be questions.

"Being indecisive, John?" Sherlock's sleepy voice startled him.

"I was just thinking that you should get your ass off that couch, Mr Holmes. Did something happen during your class? Someone told me there was a disturbance."

"Let me guess… Richard Brook told you he was very concerned?"

"Uh no… he just told me you might need help in here. What happened?"

"I might have made a misjudgement as to what is appropriate for 15 year olds to see." Sherlock said innocently.

"What did you show?"

"A stabbed woman."

"For f-…"

"For your information" Sherlock cut in, raising his right hand. "I didn't know how Olivia's mother died. You could have given me a heads up, you know."

"It's not in her file?"

"Only something vague about a mugging. Burke apparently didn't even ask her."

Just as John wanted to curse Burke for his seemingly endless list of fuck-ups, Olivia stirred.

She heard two familiar voices, and slowly let go of the comfort of her dream. Upon opening her eyes she realised that Mr Holmes' warm chest had not been a dream, and quickly looked up at Mr Watson, who was standing in front of them.

Even though the man next to her made absolutely no move to separate himself from her, she sat up so that she wasn't touching his chest anymore. Her body immediately missed the warmth of his. Sherlock felt her unease and removed his arm from around her shoulders. Her eyes scanned John's face, uncertain if what they had done was wrong.

The headmaster's face was as friendly as ever.

"Are you feeling better Olivia? I understand you had quite a fright," he asked gently.

"Yes. It was just… I was just upset because of my mum."

"That's alright. I've told Mr Holmes off. Let me know if he needs to be punished."

Sherlock scowled at this.

She smiled slightly. "That's okay, I think he's learned his lesson."

"Is it still difficult for you to sleep at night?" John enquired.

Olivia's guard went up and her eyes skirted away from his face, at the same time carefully avoiding the dissecting stare of Mr Holmes.

"Sometimes. But I'm fine," she answered minimally. She knew this wasn't very helpful to Mr Watson, but she was tired of answering questions about how she was feeling. It was hard work to twist the truth without lying.

John looked at her for a moment, deep in thought.

"Well, off you go then. Next period starts in 10 minutes."

Olivia got up, quickly grabbed her bag and didn't look around as she left the room.

When she had disappeared, the room remained silent until John cleared his throat meaningfully. Sherlock looked up at him, expecting some sort of lecture, but John just looked at him expectantly.

"You too, Sherlock."

Right then, Sherlock remembered his own schedule.

"Ah."

He jumped up and walked out without another word.

* * *

On Friday afternoon, Olivia was standing at her locker when first a frightening and then a quite wonderful thing happened.

She was one of the last to leave, so the hallway was relatively quiet. Fumbling with the books in her bag, she didn't notice Eric sneak up behind her. She let out a yelp when both his hands suddenly slammed into the grey metal locker beside her head and she was pushed forward. His grinning face was just inches away when she quickly turned around.

"_Hello Olive_. Didn't you like seeing your mum yesterday? We all really enjoyed those pictures, you know."

Olivia froze.

"What do you want?" she snapped, and her eyes narrowed at him.

"I just want to know if Mr Holmes made it all better for you after class. He ran out before any of us could get up. He must have been very worried. You know what, maybe he showed those pictures just because he wanted to get you alone."

"Shut up Eric. You're not making any sense."

"Oh yes of course, you have Anthony to comfort you. Has he got into your pants yet? I bet he has."

Olivia started to panic, being trapped between the lockers and Eric's body. She tried to push him back, but he was too strong.

Suddenly his now whisperig voice tickled her ear.

"Just so you know. If you ever say anything to Watson about me again, I will tell everybody that Holmes is fucking you. And I will make sure others will back me up on that."

Olivia was shocked for a moment, but gave him a smirk. Not for one moment could she believe that Eric could pull that off. Nobody in the entire school would believe him if he came up with something as ridiculous as that.

Noting she was not impressed by his threat, Eric violently slammed his hand into the locker next to her face.

"Calm down Mr Walker, I'm sure that was rather uncalled for."

Eric quickly turned around to see Mr Brook standing not far from them. The man stood nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets and didn't show any sign of anger or distress.

"Are you alright sweetheart?"

He seemed genuinely concerned as he looked at Olivia, who was still with her back against the lockers. She nodded.

"Mr Walker, you'd better hurry along. Mr Watson will be very cross if he hears you are upsetting your classmates."

Eric grumpily picked up his bag and walked away, not giving her another look.

Mr Brook gave Olivia a smile and a wink, and continued in the same direction.

Angrily she continued to sort out the books she would need in order to catch up on her homework over the weekend. She was mumbling to herself when suddenly another person was standing next to her.

"I can't understand a word you're saying." Anthony said.

She looked up into his amused eyes and smiled back.

"Sorry, I was just thinking which books to take home. How are you?"

She closed her locker and set her bag down at her feet, playing with the locker key in her hand.

"I'm great. Hey… I was just wondering… Are you coming to Lucy's tomorrow?" He looked hopeful, but she saw that he was expecting a negative answer, because she always said no.

"I… My dad… he won't let me go out. He's a bit… anxious," she said hesitantly.

"Oh. Does he ever let you go out?"

"Well, sometimes, when he's feeling well enough…"

Anthony didn't push or pry.

"That's a shame. It's going to be fun… It would be more fun if you were there, of course."

Olivia's cheek flushed at that. She hated the fact that she blushed so rapidly, her body betraying her emotions.

"I was hoping to congratulate you on your birthday," he said. "But maybe you'll let me do it now?" He asked it very innocently, but with a twinkle in his eyes.

Olivia's heart rate increased rapidly while she interpreted his words. She didn't what to answer, because he didn't specify exactly how he wanted to congratulate her.

"You're being very vague."

He laughed at that and looked down at the floor while he ran a hand through his hair.

"Uhm sorry, I'm just nervous." Then he looked into her eyes and asked, "Can I kiss you?"

She nodded, and he smiled in relief. Then he slowly leaned closer to her.

Adrenaline raced through her body while she closed her eyes and felt his lips touch hers. She tried to concentrate on what she was feeling. Just like her, he wasn't very experienced, but he tried to be very gentle. Her hand rested on his chest and she could feel his heart race. She felt his tongue probe into her mouth and she touched it experimentally with hers. It felt wet but interesting. Her response encouraged him and he kissed her deeper, while his right hand came up to stroke her hair.

His lips and tongue didn't feel exceptionally pleasant or unpleasant to her. It was mostly just wet. It was the fact that she was doing this at all with him that excited her. It was unbelievable for her that after everything that had happened, with her father so desperate to keep her inside the house, after so many times of having to say no to invitations, somebody like Anthony would still be interested in her. But now he was kissing her in the middle of the hallway, and it made her happy. It would get better with experience anyway, she assumed.

As they were still kissing, her mind wandered off and she wished she could tell Rose about this moment, but she had an entire weekend to get through before she would be able to. At least her birthday might make time go quicker, she thought.

* * *

Sherlock had tried to stretch his working day as long as possible, rewriting assignments, reading files for the third time, reordering his bookshelf, but couldn't make up any more excuses to delay his journey home. The emptiness of the two days off was demoralising, and he was already bored thinking about it.

The corridors were empty as he made his way to the exit, and he tried to think of new ways to guilt trip Molly into giving him a fresh liver to play with. When he turned a corner he saw the two pupils and stopped in his tracks.

For a moment he feverishly considered his options, while trying not to look at Olivia and Anthony in their obscene display of affection. His first urge was to break them apart, yell at them, and forbid them from coming within 10 feet of each other for the rest of the year. Then again, he had no idea whether John allowed this kind of thing at his school. Sherlock remembered boys getting punished with a ruler for looking at pictures of girls when he was still in school, although he never did himself. He usually got the ruler for very different behaviour.

After his first urge to violently intervene subsided, he just wanted to walk away and delete this disturbing image from his mind immediately. But Sherlock didn't move, his mind still reeling from the shock at his own indecision. Since when did he care so much? Why did he feel so aggressive towards the boy? And _why_ was she bloody kissing him?

He had been standing there for a couple of seconds, completely undecided and trying to think of other ways to get out of the building, when the two pupils broke apart. The smile that she gave Anthony was genuine, he involuntarily noted. Their hands entwined as they walked away together.

"Sherlock!" John's voice came from his left.

"Glad you're still here. I need to ask you something you won't like."

"In that case I do not have time to chat. Have a nice weekend."

Sherlock was still a bit upset by what had just happened, and secretly thanked his friend for distracting him.

John scowled at him and continued.

"You know about the trip, right?"

"What trip?"

"It was in the St Francis newsletter last week."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him, and John realised he probably didn't know there was a newsletter and would never read it anyway.

"Mary's not coming, so I need you to be there."

Sherlock eyed him with suspicion now.

"For supervision." John clarified, and was met with a way too fast "No".

"You have to. I need you."

"To which museum are you taking them? The National Gallery? God, the damage would be immeasurable."

"South Downs…" John said hesitantly.

"What?"

"South Downs. It's kind of an outdoorsy thing. Only two days."

Sherlock looked at him as if he was mad. John could see the bus ride and the screaming hoards of pupils running around in nature pass before the man's eyes, and feared he'd gone about this the wrong way.

"No. Absolutely no way. Not in a million years." Demonstratively, Sherlock started walking towards the exit, but the headmaster followed.

John silently cursed. He knew he shouldn't have gone with honesty, but it was too late to tell Sherlock they were going to the museum of pathology to trick him into getting on the bus.

"Come on Sherlock, it'll be healthy! Breathe some fresh air, get some exercise."

"John, that's a two hour bus ride! There will be casualties before we even get there! And then there's the park, how are you going to keep them from wandering off-" Sherlock realised he was arguing for the wrong side and stopped himself.

"That's exactly why I need you, Sherlock. They need guidance. If we lose one, you can find them! There will be lots of adventure, possibly even danger. Remember the hound at Dartmoor?"

Sherlock was silent for a while; angry at John but remembering the great time he'd had at Dartmoor, scaring John shitless.

"I call shotgun," he snapped and pushed the door open to march outside.

John beamed, happy not to have told Sherlock the activities program yet. He'd need to keep it from him until there would be no way back.

As he watched the tall man cross the schoolyard with long strides, he remembered something and yelled, hoping Sherlock was still within hearing reach.

"Mycroft tells you to call him back! Says it's a matter of national importance!"

He was met with a childish middle finger over a dark coated shoulder.

* * *

**Next up: Olivia's birthday!**


	13. Birthday girl

**Here it is: Olivia's birthday!  
Thanks to those who have followed/favourited this story so far! I know it is a slow one, but I love building it up!**

**To answer the reviews: Thank you! I think Olivia is too inexperienced to know what she wants, and doesn't realise yet how much she likes our handsome detective. AND I just loooove a jealous Sherlock :) Brook of course, needs to build some trust before he can tare everyone apart with as much damage as possible...  
**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Happy Birthday**

"Gooooooooooodmorning! This is Capital radio and if you're still in bed trying to wake up after a wild night, we are here to give your weekend the perfect start! This is Bob Dylan with Just Like a Woman!

Olivia listened to the tunes of the song while she woke up properly. Today was the first birthday she would spend without her mum. She tried not to think of her last birthday, when her parents had taken her to a restaurant with a live band. Her mother knew the band members and had asked them to sing her happy birthday. They had given her the bicycle, because she was finally allowed to go to school by herself. The day after that she had had the party with her friends.

Today, the house was silent. Her father was still asleep. Olivia knew she shouldn't expect much from him, but secretly hoped that he had thought of her.

She got up, took a shower and wrapped a towel around her body. Then she thought about what to wear today. It felt wrong to wear the faded jeans and a T-shirt that she normally wore on the weekends to do the housework. After checking whether her dad was really still sleeping, she opened the closet in his bedroom, where all of her mother's clothes were still neatly folded on the shelves. She always wanted to try them on, and a few times she had, when her dad was passed out downstairs. She figured he couldn't get angry with her for wearing them on her birthday.

She let her hands caress some of the beautiful coloured fabrics and picked a green dress that was medium length and had a couple of buttons at the front. It was her favourite. Her mother had worn it on her birthday last year. She also picked a bra from the drawer, curious to see if it would fit her. The calm snoring that came from the bed told her she had loads of time to put it back if it didn't.

Silently, she patted back to her own bedroom and started trying things on. The blue bra she had picked out fit relatively well. It was slightly too big, but she didn't care. Then she put on the dress and looked at herself in the mirror. It was made of a thin soft fabric. Its short sleeves covered her shoulders and it reached to just above her knees. Just like it had on her mother, it accentuated her figure, but it was a little less tight. She could easily button up the front and it swayed around her legs. Watching herself in the mirror for a while, she realised that she was beginning to look very much like her mother.

Smiling, she went downstairs to make breakfast. She put on an apron while she made pancakes, so as not to get anything on the dress. The tea was steaming as she finished setting the full table for breakfast. Satisfied, she went up to wake her dad.

He was still fast asleep when she peered over him, and groaned when she pushed his shoulder.

"Dad, wake up."

He didn't open his eyes and buried his face in his pillow. She noticed the hair on the back of his head was getting thinner.

"I've made pancakes for breakfast," she continued, shaking him.

Annoyed, he shook her off without opening his eyes. "I'm not hungry sweetheart. I need some more sleep. I'll have some later." His breath stank of alcohol.

"But dad! I-…"

"For God's sake Olivia! Leave me alone!" he groaned.

She stood at his bedside for a couple of minutes, but eventually went back downstairs. She ate her pancake alone at the kitchen table, sipping her tea while she listened for any sound from upstairs. Then she sat on the couch for a while, reading a book. Her disappointment grew every minute her father didn't get himself up. She hadn't really expected a present, or a cake. She had not expected him to do anything. But him staying in bed like this, completely ignoring her, hurt. It made it clear how utterly alone she really was.

For a moment, around noon, she felt tears rise, but she refused to let herself cry. _I am not a child anymore. He is ill. I don't need a birthday. I have to get myself together._

So she got herself together, cleaning breakfast from the kitchen table, packing the leftover pancakes in some Tupperware, collecting empty bottles, doing the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and vacuuming. She did the chores with a sad feeling in her stomach, but her emotion made her more vigorous than ever, cleaning every little nook and edge that she would usually neglect a bit.

* * *

Around 4 pm, finally heavy footsteps on the stairs. She was in the kitchen, cleaning one of the cupboards. When she turned around, he was staring at her from the doorway.

"Hi dad."

"Jesus. Olivia!" his breathing was quick and he had gone completely pale. "Why the hell are you wearing that?!"

She just stood there, not knowing what to answer. He seemed shocked, not really angry.

"I- I just thought that… I wanted… I wanted to look nice. For my birthday," she stammered.

The realisation in his eyes was painful to watch.

"Oh my God, your birthday…" he whispered. He quickly walked towards her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I just…"

Again, Olivia fought the tears that were forming in her eyes, but this time wasn't able to hold them back as he held her.

He held her for a while and then stepped back to look at her again. "Look at you. You are the spitting image of you mother. I'm sorry I reacted like that. You just gave me a start. That dress…. God she wore that on your last birthday, remember?"

Tears were streaming down his face while he spoke. Olivia nodded and drew a deep breath.

"She looked so beautiful…" his face had a pained expression while he thought about his wife on that day. Then he hugged his daughter again. He hadn't realised that she had grown so much already.

"I don't even have a cake, or a present. I am _so_ sorry sweetheart."

"It's okay," she mumbled into his chest.

After they had both calmed down they had some tea. Later, they watched TV on the couch together, his left arm around her shoulders, his right hand holding a glass of vodka. He suggested they order some food in and Olivia paid for pizza with his credit card.

She saw his gaze on her several times, and knew he was thinking about her mum, which made her regret the dress a little bit. It was not her intention to upset him.

However, during the evening, he slipped back into his personal darkness, spoke less and less, and was downing his drinks faster than she had ever seen him do before. It made her angry that he would do this today, but in her head she defended him, by telling herself he had a lot of memories to deal with on this day and that she should not have worn her mother's dress without asking.

* * *

Around 10 pm he was so far gone that he couldn't follow the conversations on the television programme anymore, and asked her to help him to bed.

He was sitting on the edge, watching her take off his shoes.

"Goditsa- amazing, how much you lookliker…" his breath hitched. She felt his hand stroke her head uncoordinatedly. When she finished she quickly threw his shoes aside, and got up.

"Come-ere." He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her cheek. She reclined a little but he didn't notice anything, his hold surprisingly strong on her. He put his hands around her waist, as he often did when he wanted her to lie next to him. Pulling her against him, he lay down and buried his face in her neck. His left arm moved up so that her chest and shoulder was trapped as well, keeping her still against him. Olivia shut her eyes tightly, feeling constricted and awkward.

"Dad, please. Go to sleep." But he was crying again.

"Lovyou."

"Love you too, dad."

"Yourall I hav- livia. Please don't leavme."

Her whole body tensed.

"I won't," she said, thinking about what he would need to hear to calm down.

"Promsme, youll neverever never leave me. I ne-eedyou." His breath was warm against her skin and she grimaced at the smell.

"I promise."

This seemed to relax him a bit.

"Yourmygirl. Youll stayere witme forever," he sighed.

After that, he slept within seconds. When Olivia wriggled herself out of his grasp, she had to calm herself down. The thought of this; taking care of him, bringing him to bed, clinging to her, not being able to see her friends, forever, made her panic. Would this really go on forever? Would she be stuck in here forever?

She had considered this situation to be temporary, expecting him to recover at some point. He would _have _to recover at some point. That was the whole idea: you are really sad for while, and then you go on living. This was not living. She knew as much from hearing her friends talk about going out, having fun, exploring new things together. For the past seven months she had kept social services at bay, so that he had the time to get himself together. It was breaking her slowly. She couldn't go on like this. It felt like being a prisoner of his sadness, pretending to be the stronger one of them, and it wasn't fair.

The thought that this was going to be her life forever didn't let her go as she stared at his sleeping form. She needed to do something, anything, to get away.

Eventually the urge to escape won from the instinct to take care for him. Olivia wiped the tears from her eyes and walked out of the bedroom. She grabbed her bag from her room and slipped on her shoes. Silently she descended the stairs, grabbed her coat, and without properly considering she repercussion of what she was doing, she walked out the door.

Her bicycle was parked against the side of the house, having been there ever since she'd gotten a flat tire a couple of weeks ago. She slung her bag over her shoulder and got on, not caring about the tire, just wanting to get out of there fast.

The street was quiet, and the adrenaline rush of breaking the rules, of being freed from the suffocating dullness of the house, rushed her forward.

It was a couple of miles to Hampstead, and Olivia paddled as fast as she could, but started to regret her rash decision to cycle. The flat tire caused a lot of resistance and made her movements extremely laboured. Her mother's dress was almost getting caught in the rear wheel. At some point, when she was halfway through Hampstead Heath, the rubber of her front tire snapped and the metal of her wheel caught the ground. She could just about jump off before the wheel stopped abruptly.

She stood there in the middle of the huge park, catching her breath for a moment before she put the useless thing at the side of the road, not bothering to lock it. She continued on foot and although it wasn't very cold yet, she was glad to be wearing her coat. The early October air was chilly on her bare legs though, so she kept walking quickly through the dark.

Walking calmed her down a bit, and it cleared her mind enough to notice the possible danger she put herself in, walking alone through a park at night. However, there was no turning back now, so she kept on going, keeping herself from looking at the darkness between the trees and imagining what could be waiting there.

* * *

**I think you can guess where Olivia wants to go...**


	14. We Don't Care

**Hello again! This is a big chapter that contains a lot of firsts for Olivia :)  
**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 13: We Don't Care  
**

Olivia sighed in relief when she reached the edge of the park 20 minutes later and stepped into the relative safety of the streetlights. From here she could already hear faint sounds of a stereo player. A couple of turns later, the huge white house came within sight, and she smiled as she saw people dancing in the living room.

* * *

"Which do you prefer, rum or coke?"

"What?" Rose asked.

"I mean-" Lucy laughed loudly "…which do you prefer, rum and coke… or rum and orang juice?"

They were standing in the kitchen of _Maison de la Griffin -_as Anthony had named it- and were deciding on what to poor themselves next. The loud beat of a popular disco song came from the living room and people were dancing everywhere.

Lucy's brother Dylan was in the highest grade at St Francis and had invited a huge number of pupils from the school, but also some people he knew from rugby and from their neighbourhood. Together with Lucy's friends, the house was packed with people from approximately age 14 to 23. Many of them had brought their own booze and some of the older partygoers were smoking joints.

Lucy and Rose were enjoying themselves at the moment by trying new combinations of drinks and dancing together. Anthony was having a great time feeling exceptionally cool drinking beers with guys much older than he was. He kept Peter in tow, who was always a bit shy. However, Peter seemed to feel at ease among these friendly and outgoing people, which was an accomplishment in itself.

"I'm going fooooor… rum…. with rum!" Rose yelled over the music. They both couldn't stop laughing at their own stupid jokes. Lucy could hardly keep the bottle steady as she poured them the drinks.

"Are you taking it easy, little sister?" Dylan said as he walked into the kitchen with Sarah, his girlfriend.

"Yes big brother. Everything is under control!" she laughed as the rim of the glass overflowed.

"How the hell did you get so much alcohol together without your parents noticing?" Anthony wondered aloud as he sat down on one of the barstools.

"As I told you, Ant. My parents are exceptionally dim. In the head." Lucy said while she tapped the side of her head with a finger.

"Don't they ever go into your room?"

"Not his. Not anymore!" she laughed again, pointing at her brother.

Dylan smiled and explained as he fiddled with the shoulder strap of Sarah's dress. "Our mother sometimes tells the maid to clean our rooms. But I told her that I didn't want her to stumble upon the stack of porn I keep there. She was so shocked, she won't send anyone in there ever again!"

"It's interesting how brutal honesty can be the key to people backing off," Rose said thoughtfully as she sipped from her drink.

"I do it all the time!" Sarah said. "Whenever I want to skip P.E. I just tell Simmons that I'm on my period. He never dares to say no when you tell him that."

They were talking about which other teachers at St Francis could be intimidated using this technique, when Lucy distantly heard the doorbell ring through the music. She got up, skipped through to the corridor –stopped when she almost skipped into the staircase- to open the door.

* * *

"Look whose here!" Lucy yelled as she walked back into the kitchen. Rose jumped up when she saw her best friend following her. Olivia looked a bit lost, walking into such cheerfulness after her lonely day, and she was still shivering from the cold night air.

"Liv! You're here!"

"Hi!" Olivia said and smiled as she spotted more familiar faces at the kitchen table.

"Are you okay?" Rose asked as she hugged her.

"I'm fine. Great, actually."

"Oh! It's your birthday!" Lucy exclaimed, surprised to remember. Immediately they all started singing for her, and Anthony came forward to give her a quick kiss. It was almost overwhelming to be welcomed so warmly, but Olivia had no time to think about that as she got a drink pushed into her hands to join in with the toast.

"I thought you wouldn't come." Rose said, when things had calmed down a bit.

"Changed my mind. What's in this drink?" Olivia grimaced as she tasted the rum.

"Didn't your dad forbid you to go out?"

Olivia shrugged her shoulders.

"He will be worried. Maybe you should call to tell him where you are," Rose went on.

She sighed. "No he won't. He is passed out in bed from booze and anti-depressants, and he won't notice I'm gone until tomorrow afternoon," she blurted out.

Rose looked a bit shocked at Olivia's openness, but didn't comment any further. _This honesty thing truly works_, she thought.

Lucy introduced Olivia to everyone who happened to be in the kitchen at that time, and to the great variety of bottles that stood on the counter. "When you finish that rum, I will make you a 'Richard Brook'. It's a cocktail. Rose and I invented it an hour ago, and you can be our first test subject!"

"I did _not_ agree on that name!" Rose inserted to prevent misunderstanding.

Olivia had minimal experience with alcohol. Her mother had let her taste some wine a few times, and she had tasted a little bit of vodka once from one of her dad's almost empty bottles. She laughed with her friends and agreed to be their test subject, even though the stuff tasted horrible. The decision not to care anymore, in combination with the alcohol, caused her to experience a strange type of calmness, and she enjoyed every moment of it.

After a while, Anthony asked if she want to dance. She let him guide her towards the living room, where more people were dancing and some people were smoking on the couches. Anthony turned out to be a reasonable dancer, even though he was a bit drunk. He held her close to him as she swayed her hips to the music in the cloudy room. His lips brushed her neck softly and he told her she looked extremely sexy in that dress, which gave her goose bumps and made her want to kiss him again.

She didn't want to do it with everybody watching though, so after a couple of songs she grabbed Anthony's hand and pulled him into the hallway. Neither of them knew their way around the house so she randomly picked a door and they ended up in an office. The drinks made her bold and the dress made her feel sexy.

Anthony was pleasantly surprised at Olivia's boldness and got quite excited when the door closed behind them. Her brown eyes looked at him differently now, compared to the day before, at the lockers at school. Then they had been questioning, excited and a little nervous. Right now he looked in her eyes and saw only excitement.

He pushed her lightly so she stood with her back against the big wooden door and before she realised it, his lips were pressing against hers. She opened her mouth to let his tongue inside. It felt good to feel him close to her like that. One of his hands was rubbing her side and the other was stroking her neck.

Olivia was surprised at how well she could sense what the boy was feeling while he kissed her. She could feel he wanted to please her, but also that he was very unsure about how far he should try to go. She wasn't even sure how far she wanted him to go, because all of it was new.

Closing her eyes, Olivia concentrated on the way his mouth and hands felt on her body. The room swayed around her and his fingers gave her skin a pleasant tingle through the green fabric. Very, very quickly, her mind wandered to Mr Holmes and his penetrating gaze. Even though it was a short moment, a shudder went down her spine. For the first time in her life she felt very aroused in the presence of another person. She tried to force the mature man out of her mind, knowing she should focus on Anthony.

She pulled him closer and felt how tense his body was under her touch. Her movements encouraged him to slide his right hand up, so that it cupped her breast over the soft fabric of her dress. Again Mr Holmes succeeded to sneak his way into Olivia's head, and for a moment she felt as if it was his hand touching her breast.

This caused a moan to escape from her mouth, sending a jolt of electricity through Anthony. He started fervently rubbing his hand over her breast and she felt his erection pressing against her hipbone.

Although quite curious about Anthony's physical reaction, Olivia knew she would have to choose soon between stopping, and possibly touching him. His hand was now sort of kneading her breast, and it started feeling a lot less pleasant.

Carefully, she pushed him back a little to make him stop. His eyes looked hazy when he looked at her. His breathing was quick and heavy.

"We should stop," she told him decisively.

The disappointment was evident on his face. "Didn't you like it?" he asked.

"Yes I did. I just… I don't want to do anything else." For a moment she was afraid that he wouldn't be dismissed so easily, but then realised Anthony was always nice and gentle to her.

"Oh… alright. We could just continue doing… this." he gestured between them. "If you want."

"I'd rather go back."

Anthony nodded and soulfully followed her back into the dancing bustle of the party.

In the living room, Lucy, Rose, Peter, Dylan and a couple of friends of his were now occupying a couch and some pillows on the floor. Although she had enjoyed the private moment with Anthony, Olivia was glad to be back with her girlfriends.

"Birthday girl should have some, too!" said Dylan as he motioned them to join them.

Olivia sat down on the couch and snuggled in between Rose and Lucy. "What are we doing?" she asked.

"This, birthday girl, is a vaporiser. And it gives you the best feeling in the world. But it's innocent, like you," the older boy said.

Lucy set out to explain. "This thing just evapes… evaporises the oily thingy that is in the herb. And the steam will make you laugh. A LOT." She already broke out in giggles and Olivia laughed at her.

"You have already had some I guess? Well, no thank you. I don't think I should do alcohol and drugs for the first time on the same night." Then she got up again. "But I will have another rum and coke."

Even though Olivia was smart enough not to try the vaporiser right then, the rest of the night became a complete blur. One moment she was dancing with Anthony, the next Rose had snatched her away and was twirling her around. They started making stranger combinations of drinks, a game that was eventually abandoned because they could find nobody who wanted to try vodka, white wine, cranberry juice and milk together, on the rocks. At some point Anthony had to go home, and he kissed her again. Much later, when most people had left, Olivia found herself leaning against the wall in the shower with all her clothes on, hardly feeling the water and laughing at Lucy, who attempted to wash her hair with shaving cream. The night had a number of black outs, but what she remembered the next day was that she had felt incredibly happy.

* * *

"Oehoe! Sherlock!"

Mrs Hudson pushed the door to 221B open with her foot. She was holding a tray with tea and biscuits, looking for her favourite detective. She had agreed to bring Sherlock his tea again after he had cleaned up the flat so nicely. His behaviour since the incident that summer had been quite difficult for her to deal with, because she had always regarded him in the most positive light (rudeness aside). Seeing him at his worst had frightened her a bit, and the constant sound of his violin at night had been breaking her up. After she had found a naked woman on the sofa once, she decided it was better for her not to come up anymore, to Sherlock's great annoyance.

Then John had given him a teaching position at his school, and he seemed to slowly crawl out of his depression. The work gave him something to latch onto and the pupils seemed to have a good influence on him. Even his night-time violin sessions decreased in frequency. Then one day he cleaned the flat and came to tell her that all reasons for her not to come up anymore had been resolved, and that he expected tea again, which she offered him happily.

However, sometimes his unhappy moods came back. This weekend he'd been at it again and she had listened to him pacing around above her head all Saturday, sometimes interrupted by a bump when he dramatically flopped down on the sofa. The violin kept playing for hours and hours, until she had had to come up and sternly tell him to go to bed or that she would call Mycroft. Her warning was met with a childish retort, but seemed to help in the end.

It was already 1 pm when she heard him get up on Sunday, and ascended the stairs with her tray.

"Oh well done! You've started a new experiment," she said cheerfully while putting the tea tray down on the kitchen table, after shoving some equipment to the side.

"No reason for applause. I have no results as of yet," he grumbled as he poured some liquid into another liquid, and nothing happened. He gave an annoyed grumble and took of his gloves to pick up his steaming teacup.

"How are you feeling dear? You were awfully loud last night. Something going on with John?" she asked while he sat down at the table.

"Bored."

"Oh rubbish. You have enough to keep yourself occupied. I noticed Molly has given you a whole jar of thumbs. How are things going at school? John said I should come and see the Christmas performance."

"It's early October."

"I know, but I think it will be lovely. Now tell me, how do you like being a teacher? John says the pupils have a good influence on you."

"Some of them are tolerable."

"He said you helped a boy who has an aggressive father. That's very good of you."

"Hardly, I just got him talking."

Sherlock stared out of the window as he blew into his cup.

"What's bothering you, Sherlock? You know I can always tell when something's bothering you."

Sherlock caught her worried expression and sighed, knowing she was right.

"I can't get everyone to talk to me."

"Someone in particular?"

"One of them. She's… her mother died, but something else is bothering her. I don't know exactly what's going on, though. She's become quite good at covering up."

"Oh Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed. "They really have changed you, haven't they?"

Sherlock huffed. "No they haven't. I'm just annoyed that I don't have all the data I need, that's all. She doesn't have many people to help her."

"Of course dear," Mrs Hudson said with a knowing smile. "I'm sure she's very pretty as well?"

Sherlock's head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at her. "I refuse to respond to such an irrelevant question."

Mrs Hudson smiled knowingly. Even though Sherlock hardly ever developed relationships with people, she knew him well enough to recognise it when he liked someone.

"Don't worry dear. Do you think she likes you?"

"I insistently ask you to discontinue this conversation."

"I myself had an affair with a teacher once when I was in school. Lovely man. We used to sneak into an empty office during lunch break. Thought me a lot about-"

"Mrs Hudson! I have absolutely no intention of having relations with a pupil who is half my age. So please do not tell me about your sexual escapades."

"Of course dear. I'm glad to see that you care about her so much."

"I don't-…"

At that moment, the phone rang and Mrs Hudson got up. "I will leave you to it, then. I'm sure she will confide in you sometime. Just be patient," she said as she picked up the tray and left.

Sherlock took the call.

"Yes."

"Sherlock. Hi."

"Hello John, what do you want?"

"I just got a call from Mr Edwards, Olivia's dad. He can't find her."

"Did he sound sober to you?"

"What? I don't know, he was panicking. I thought you might know where she is?"

Sherlock panicked for a second.

"Are you asking if she's with me? Because that is-…"

"No, I was going to ask you if you had any ideas. She seems to trust you, so…"

"Oh, well. I believe the Griffin's are you're best bet. I heard something about a gathering of people at their place."

"A party, you mean?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"Right. OK, I'll try Lucy then. Thanks."

John hung up and Sherlock cursed. He wondered if it was really that obvious Olivia had such an effect on him, and if she really trusted him as much as John thought.

* * *

Olivia woke up in Lucy's soft big bed with Rose next to her. She was wearing unfamiliar shorts and a T-shirt, presumably borrowed from Lucy after their shower. Her head felt heavy but her mouth was dry, but she smiled. She had slept extremely well.

"Good morning", Rose said sleepily.

"Morning."

They lay there for a while, silently smiling at each other.

"I don't think I have ever had so much fun in one night," Olivia said. Rose was very happy to hear that. She seemed fine, but she knew there was a reason her friend had turned up at the party without permission.

"How was your birthday yesterday? At home, I mean."

Olivia's face fell as the memory of the previous day flooded back into her mind.

"He forgot."

"No! That's awful!"

"And then he got drunk, and really sad."

"Oh Liv…" Rose pulled her into a hug and she noticed Olivia's suddenly unsteady breathing.

"And he said I had to stay with him, because he's so lonely. I just needed to get out of there."

Olivia closed her eyes and a few tears fell down her cheeks. Rose rubbed a hand over her back to soothe her until she calmed.

After a while, they said goodbye to the warm bed and Olivia went to look for her dress, which she found in Lucy's (personal) bathroom.

The mess in the living room made her gasp. Bottles, cans, cups, bags of crisps, several items of clothing, and quite some stuff they had used for the vaporiser covered all surfaces, including Lucy, who was asleep on the couch with a boy Olivia didn't recognize. She wondered how far she had gone with him, or if they'd just fallen asleep together.

She noticed that not many people had stayed over. There was only Sarah, Rose, Olivia, and the boy on the couch who turned out to be one of the neighbours. He left as soon as he could, hoping his parents hadn't woken up yet.

When Olivia automatically started gathering empty bottles, Lucy frowned. "Olivia, please don't do that. You're making me feel bad for not cleaning. Let's go outside and lie in the sun for a while." So they spent the next two hours lying on a sheet in the backyard, relaxing in the afternoon sun. The sun was still quite sharp for this time of year and it made them sleepy.

They only woke when Dylan came to ask if they wanted a second go at the vaporiser, because he was going to turn it on for him and Sarah. They followed him inside, even though Olivia wasn't sure whether she would to join in.

They just came through the big garden doors when the phone rang. Lucy skipped to where it was and picked up cheerfully.

"Griffin residence!"

Her eyes went wide for a moment and everyone went silent.

"Mr Watson! How's your weekend?"

Rose mouthed "_what the fuck?!" _to Lucy

"Yes, I'm great. Enjoying the weekend," she made a face to them meaning "_I don't know!" _Then she glanced at Olivia, who stood frozen in the living room, knowing very well that this was about her.

"Olivia! Oh ehm…" she looked at Olivia to tell her what to say. Part of Olivia didn't want her friend have to lie for her, but at that moment she could only shake her head.

"Olivia is not here," Lucy said, sounding completely natural.

"Yes Mr Watson, of course, you too. Bye."

Just after she laid down the phone, Lucy clasped her hand in front of her mouth.

"What did he say?" Rose asked worriedly.

Lucy turned to Olivia. "Your dad called Watson to say he didn't know where you were. And he said he'd heard that there was a party here this weekend, so he called to check if you were here. And to tell you to call home if I see you."

Rose looked at Olivia. "Do you think you should call home?"

Olivia avoided her eyes and started walking towards the coffee table, where vaporiser was stood.

"Let's try this thing. I'm ready."

The others didn't question her, and Dylan, who had already prepared, let Olivia take the first drag. She was careful and didn't inhale very deeply, but when she saw the others suck the steam through the tube she got the idea. Slowly but surely she forgot about the phone call, and about the fear that her father would turn up at the house. Her limbs got a bit heavier, her vision of the room became a bit less sharp, and her movements got slower.

Her thoughts seemed to get incoherent as well. One thing turned into something else in her head and she connected ideas that, when sober, probably wouldn't make any sense. She didn't care though, and she had fun listening to Rose telling a completely fictional story about what the Queen would be doing right now. _"I tell you, she is taking yoga classes."_

At some point, Olivia started laughing and was unable to stop for about 20 minutes.

After about an hour, when the effects of the THC in their blood had ebbed away a bit, Lucy suggested they take a bath.

"I haven't had a wash since yesterday morning, and I feel disgusting."

"Yes you have. You had a shower last night," Olivia said.

"Well, I can't remember that so it doesn't count. We can use mum's bathroom!" She ran upstairs to prepare the bath, and Rose and Olivia followed.

* * *

Olivia put her clothes in the washing machine to clean while the three of them soaked in the immense round tub of Lucy's mother. It was a deep, Jacuzzi style bath, where they could sit on a little ledge in the water.

"Who was that boy on the couch with you this morning?" Olivia asked Lucy, as she enjoyed the tingling feeling of the hot water on her skin.

"Oh that was Timmy, known him for years. He's cute, don't you think?"

"I guess. Did he kiss you?"

"Oh yes, he's a very good kisser. And, you know…" She played with the foam that was in front of her.

"What?" Rose asked. Her eyes narrowed at Lucy. "Did you let him get in your pants?"

"And he let me get into his pants. Hands only, mind you! He was quite good at it."

"Did you get him off?" Rose asked, still sounding a bit shocked.

"Yes." Lucy grinned. "Got to make use of the time your parents aren't watching."

"As we are on the topic of privacy, Olivia. Tell us, what happened between you and Anthony last night in my mum's office?" Lucy asked.

"We kissed. But we did that on Friday already, too."

Lucy whistled and excitedly started asking questions. She told them about Friday afternoon, and about last night, about how she liked it but that it was a bit too much at some point. She told them how he and rubbed her breast so hard it almost hurt.

"Inexperience, obviously. Tell him next time, if you want him to improve," Rose said. "Women are better kissers than men, anyway," she added.

"How would you know? You've never kissed a guy!" Lucy exclaimed.

"Maybe I have." Rose smiled mysteriously.

"What! When? Who? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because it was nothing! Just an experiment."

"Who was it then?" Olivia was curious now.

"OK. Don't get all excited, because it was really nothing," she began. "One day before the summer holidays, Peter and I were waiting at the coffee shop for Olivia, to go to Camden. But Olivia didn't show up because her dad had suddenly decided she couldn't go. So, we decided to go anyway. While we were walking, Peter told me he thought he was gay, and he wanted to know how I knew I was. So I explained to him that I just knew, but if he wanted, we could try something and see if he felt anything. So we kissed, somewhere in Regents park."

Lucy gaped at her. "Oh-My-God. That is so… I don't know, interesting?"

"We kissed for a while, and we both didn't feel anything, so that's when he definitely knew he was gay. Funny, right?"

"That was very nice of you," said Olivia.

"Well, it wasn't completely altruistic. I just wanted to have done it once. Never have to do it again," she chuckled. "But, if you are ever in doubt, I'm at your service for an experiment."

"Maybe I'd like to try."

Olivia said it before she knew she even wanted to. Lucy's mouth fell open once more.

"I don't have any experience, with anything, so I might as well take the opportunity." Olivia defended.

"But I thought you liked Anthony, and I've seen you look at Holmes." Rose said cautiously.

"I know. But that doesn't mean I can't like women, right? If you don't want to it's fine. It's just that you said-…" she clumsily tried to take back her words.

However, Rose was already beside her. She looked a little flushed and excited as she turned her body and took hold of Olivia's shoulder to steady herself in the water.

"Don't worry about it."

Olivia closed her eyes and felt Rose's soft lips on hers. She started very slow, testing to see how comfortable Olivia really was with this, but found that she responded quite willingly. After a while Rose started using her tongue and enjoyed the intimate feeling.

Lucy was watching them with curiosity.

Olivia felt a little overwhelmed by Rose. She was extremely soft, including her breasts, which ware pressed gently against her side in the warm water. The vaporised substance, which was still lingering in her blood, made everything feel like a dream. Rose kept one hand on her shoulder to keep herself in place, and used the other to caress Olivia's side. Her tongue explored her mouth without any need to hurry.

Just like the night before, images started flashing through Olivia's head. They were first showing Rose and her soft body, then Anthony's arousal pressed against her, and finally turned into her mysterious science teacher. This made her want to press herself against Rose more tightly and she moaned softly.

Right then, the bathroom door opened and Sarah walked in. The girls broke apart quickly and looked in her direction.

"Oh sorry, I see I'm interrupting something." She smiled. "I just wanted to know if you want any Chinese food. Dylan is ordering some and though it would be best if he didn't go in here. He was probably right," she chuckled.

"Thanks Sarah. Yes we would like some," Lucy said and Sarah left again quickly.

Lucy burst out laughing. "Well, that was interesting! I hope that clarified some things for you. I should probably go downstairs though…" She got out of the tub, wrapped a towel around her and left to get dressed.

Rose looked at Olivia and they both grinned.

"What did you think?" Rose asked tentatively. "You're a very good kisser."

Olivia blushed. "You are much better than Anthony… and I felt a similar reaction, actually."

"Do you think you might like both?"

"I don't know. I've never had feelings for a girl, and you're my best friend. It's actually more confusing now."

Rose was pretty sure Olivia wasn't attracted to her, she had put that out of her mind quite soon after they had met. She truly valued their friendship and was happy to be able to talk to her about every crush she had, like Sally Donovan. Olivia was a bit slower with these things, but it was fun helping her discover her sexuality.

"Did you think about Anthony when I kissed you?" Rose asked it without any jealousy in her voice, which put Olivia's mind at ease.

"Ehm.. for a moment, yes."

"What do you mean? What else did you think about?"

Olivia hesitated. She knew Rose was aware of her admiration for Mr Holmes, but this went a little bit further than that.

"I'm not sure if it's appropriate. It's stupid."

Rose eyes lit up in curiosity. "Now you have to tell me."

"He just pops up in my mind! I can't help it!" Olivia sunk down under water for a moment in embarrassment.

"Is it a certain extremely intelligent, mysterious, sexy science professor, who makes you squirm by just looking at you?"

With her face shielded by her hands, Olivia nodded. She heard Rose let out a cry of joy and splashed the foam in front of her.

"Liv! Even though he is completely out of bounds in reality, he is probably the best crush you could have! It shows you have good taste, and there is nothing wrong with exploring your sexuality by thinking of him." Rose splashed some water at her and Olivia finally showed her blushing face.

"You should know how many times I have thought about Sally to get off. It just makes it feel so much better somehow."

"I've never… you know." Olivia mumbled.

"What? Never touched yourself or never thought about him when you did it?"

"The first."

Rose was quiet for a moment.

"Really?"

Olivia nodded again, now even more embarrassed.

Rose just looked thoughtfully at her friend, who had just turned out to be much more innocent than she thought.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that, but I would advise you to try it. You know, before you let anyone else touch you. Could be useful to know what happens. It feels really good."

"Alright. But Rose…"

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell anyone. About Mr Holmes."

* * *

**To avoid any misunderstanding; this chapter is not meant as an encouragement to get drunk or high! Olivia was lucky that it only made her feel good and not sick. I wanted her to take some risks and discover new things about herself.  
**

**Your reactions are very very welcome!**


	15. Interrogations

**Thanks for the new follows, favourites and reviews! **

**I really love it when people share their thoughts, comments, questions, suggestions, so please review :)**

**At the moment I'm working on chapter 17 and I expect this story to be around 30 chapters in total. There is a plan for the plot, but suggestions are always welcome!**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Interrogations**

"Miss Griffin, lengthen your skirt. Miss Edeson, get rid of those earrings. Miss Edwards, come with me."

Mr Watson was barking at them at the entrance of the building as they walked in –a little too late- on Monday morning. He looked grumpy and his normal gentle demeanour was nowhere to be found.

As Olivia meekly followed him to his office, reality set in. She had stayed away from home for over 24 hours, and her dad still had no clue where she was. He had probably been calling Mr Watson all day yesterday. She had kissed a boy, kissed a girl, got drunk, and got high, for the first time, all in one weekend.

They'd had dinner last night and stayed up again until early in the morning, finishing the last weed, which was still lingering in her head a tiny little bit at the moment, preventing her from getting nervous about Mr Watson's obvious frustration. They had fallen asleep on Lucy's bed and woken up a tad too late to properly get ready for school. She had put on her dress, which was at least clean, and they had run out without breakfast. Olivia was carrying her schoolbag, but no uniform, books or homework.

"Sit down, Olivia." Mr Watson gestured at the chair on front of his desk as he sat himself down.

She obeyed and waited for him to speak, which took a while. As he observed her through narrowed but somewhat worried eyes, she didn't want to know what he was thinking. He was breathing through his nose and tapping the end of his pen on the wooden desk.

"So, why are you not wearing your uniform?" he finally asked.

"Didn't bring it," she answered, trying not to get distracted by the tapping pen in his hand.

"Should I understand from that answer, and the state of you, that you have not been home since sometime Saturday night?" she could hear the frustration in his voice and dared not look up.

She nodded.

"Do you have any idea how worried your father is about you? He called me yesterday in a panic to tell me you had left the house while he was asleep. And I assume that at this moment he is still unaware that you have turned up at school. Where did you stay?"

She shrugged her shoulders and played with a lock of hair.

"Don't give me silence, Olivia. Tell me where you were." his voice sounded almost exasperated.

"Lucy's."

"Lucy Griffin's place? Right, I'll have to have a chat with her as well, then." He sighed, remembering the cheerful voice with which the girl had answered the phone.

"Are you going to tell me why you left home in the middle of the night?"

She shrugged her shoulders again, but when she saw his frowning face she hurriedly thought of a reply.

"I wanted to go to the party."

John sat back in his chair and looked at the teenager sitting in front of him. He felt as if she was slipping out of his fingers. When her mother had died Olivia had been very open with him and let him help her any way he could, but after a while she had started closing off. He felt as if she only told him what she thought he wanted to hear; _"I miss my mum." "I can't sleep." "I feel sorry for my dad."_ All things he could understand and possibly help her with, but he still didn't know what it was like for her at home. He didn't know exactly how her father was coping, because he never picked up their phone and never came to parent evenings at school. Now Olivia had run away for some reason, only to turn up at school in a revealing dress, looking like she'd had a very wild weekend.

John realised that showing his frustration and anger would be completely counter-productive.

"How was the party?"

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Did you have fun?

No answer.

"Look Olivia, let me be honest. I can see you're not in the mood for talking. But I need to know three things. Please just answer me straight, alright?"

She nodded hesitantly, knowing that there would be no turning back, whatever she answered.

"Did something happen at home for you to want to leave so suddenly?"

She shook her head. "No." _Just no. Nothing specific happened. He only said a few things, nothing for Mr Watson to worry about._

"Did you take anything? Alcohol or drugs?"

_Deep breath._

"No."

_That was quite easy. Another first: lying to Mr Watson. _

He nodded and then tilted his head, slightly hesitant with his last question.

"Did you… heck- did you have sexual relations, with anyone?"

She stayed silent. Shocked by his question.

"Because in that case I can let Mary run some tests."

_Why does he think that is any of his business? Why does he want to know?_

"I do not have to answer that question." It came out hurriedly and a bit angry.

Mr Watson looked at her for a moment, surprised.

"No. No you don't. You're right. It would be great if you did, though. You're worrying me."

A couple of months ago Olivia would have answered him in a heartbeat, glad to know that any adult wished to protect her in some way. But over the past few weeks, something had changed, making her feel less like a child. It felt wrong for him to question her about such private matters, and it angered her that he thought he could decide if she needed any tests.

"If I think I need any tests I will go to Mary myself. That's not your decision," she said.

"OK, it's not my decision. I just want to help you, Olivia. If there is anything bothering you, _please_ tell me." She could hear the frustration in his voice again.

"There is _nothing to say_. I'm tired of you questioning me, Mr Watson." Olivia felt that if he kept going, she might yell at him. However, his concerned expression made her feel a bit guilty, because she knew he was one of the few people she could trust and it was painful to disappoint him.

"Can I go now?" she said in a small voice.

He sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere.

"I'm going to take you to your classroom. After that, I will call your father to tell him you're here. I will discuss with him whether he will come and pick you up."

She cringed but nodded. The thought of her dad coming to the school was horrifying, especially as he was probably upset and drunk.

* * *

Sherlock, in the middle of explaining a scientific theory on the blackboard, turned smoothly towards the door of the classroom as it opened. For a moment he froze, the piece of chalk forgotten in his hand, seeing Olivia in something that was definitely not her uniform. The light made her long hair shine and her eyes sparkled at him. She didn't say anything, but looked ridiculously beautiful as she walked towards the back row and sat down.

Then Sherlock noticed John motioning at him at the door, and was annoyed that he'd let himself get distracted. Approaching John, he told the class to read while he was outside.

In the corridor, with the door carefully shut, John explained the situation to him.

"I seriously don't know what to do anymore, Sherlock. I can _tell_ she's lying to me. She has never lied to me before. Evaded answering my questions, yes, but _never_ lied. I have the feeling something might have happened over the weekend. She seems different… changed."

"Maybe fifteen's a magic number?" Sherlock asked innocently.

John clenched his fists in frustration.

"Sherlock! Come on! I need you to talk to her."

"Well, what am I supposed to say?"

John just looked at him for a moment.

"I don't care what you say. I need you to be Sherlock Holmes. Olivia is your case."

"Also, when you've finished with this class, tell Lucy Griffin to come see me."

Sherlock frowned as John turned and walked away. To him, Olivia looked perfectly fine. Although possibly a bit tired, she actually seemed a little better than before the weekend. Less tense. The fact that she refused to answer John's questions didn't alarm him much. He knew very well how tiring and invasive John's anxiety over other people's well-being could be. Still, he was curious about what caused the change and thought it wouldn't hurt either of them to have a chat.

Sherlock glanced at the back row a couple of times during the rest of the lesson while he drawled on about a topic he actually found too boring to teach, but which was on the national curriculum and apparently supposed to be common knowledge among adults. Olivia sat there looking ahead, without books or a pen to write things down. She always took notes, but it didn't seem to bother her not to do so right now. Her whole body looked so much more relaxed than she had last week, when he had sat on the couch with her in 221. The dress she was wearing gave her a much more feminine look than the boring school uniform, and the colour went perfectly with her eyes. The collar of her dress was rather low cut and the top button was undone, showing her collarbones and a little bit of cleavage. Her skin was sun-kissed, and she looked like she had just come form a long day at the beach. Her hair was wilder than usual, not having been brushed for several days. It waved over her shoulders and he could remember the softness of it between his fingers.

He saw how Anthony wasn't able keep his eyes off her either and couldn't help but jealously wonder what he had already seen of her. It occurred to him that the boy must have also been at the Griffin house as well, and suddenly he couldn't wait for the class to end.

* * *

"Alright, class dismissed. You know what to do for next time. Edwards and Griffin, stay behind," he drawled, cleaning the chalk from the board in slow waving movements.

Olivia and Lucy looked at each other, and cautiously walked towards his desk.

Mr Holmes didn't turn around as he spoke. "Miss Griffin, you are to go and see Mr Watson in his office."

Lucy groaned in disappointment, but went on her way. Olivia watched her go, feeling partly responsible for getting her friend into trouble. She didn't notice Mr Holmes turn around to face her.

"Miss Edwards, come with me," he said and promptly walked out the door in long strides.

She hung her bag over her shoulder and hurriedly followed him to his office, where he told her to sit in the big armchair that was now standing in the corner between the side of his desk and his bookcase. His office was interesting, and the skull that sat on the windowsill momentarily distracted her, only to be startled again by his proximity. Sherlock pulled up his desk chair so that there was nothing but a small amount of space in between them, sat down, leaned back, legs crossed, and peered at her from behind his steepled fingers. Without saying anything, he let his mind do what it did best.

"Are you going to interrogate me, like Mr Watson?" she asked calmly.

She sat there, knees slightly apart, back straight, and he suddenly noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra, which slightly brought his thoughts off track. He hated the fact that he she had such strong effect on his rational thinking. But he wouldn't be Sherlock Holmes if he were not able to successfully repress these emotions within seconds.

"I hear you gave the man quite a retort. Gained some bravery over the weekend?" He mocked.

Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Who says I wasn't brave before the weekend."

"Were you? How?" His deep voice resonated, daring her. He put one elbow on the side of his desk and rested his chin on his knuckles, while he observed her with inexplicably bright blue eyes. The sun that came through the window softened his pale skin.

He looked absolutely beautiful, but Olivia was annoyed by his mocking expression, and felt a strong desire to wipe it off his face.

"I took care of my dad," she blurted out. She thought about what she said only after she had spoken the words, hoping they were vague enough.

He was silent for a moment. His expression had most definitely changed, but she wasn't sure it was to her advantage. He suddenly looked utterly concentrated on her.

"You did indeed…. You took care of everything so he could sit at home and cry about your mum. I also have a suspicion he developed quite a drinking habit."

With that sentence he noticed that her body completely tensed up, making her collarbones stand out a bit more against her skin. He sat up, knowing he had struck a chord, and subsequently decided to strike it some more.

"You cook, clean, pick up his mess, pay the bills, do the shopping, and stay at home to make sure he knows you are there for him. You even have to take him up to bed at night because he can't get himself upstairs."

Olivia felt her throat clench. With her lips pressed together she was looking out the window; trying not to hear him pick her secrets apart.

"Your body language tells me I'm right." A little bit of smugness resonated in his voice.

"Do you stay with him until he falls asleep?"

She closed her eyes.

"Stop it," she said angrily. Tears were burning in the corners of her eyes. "He cares about me." She managed no more than a whisper now.

"I wouldn't suggest otherwise, but he's _weak_."

She opened her eyes again but kept her mouth shut.

"You need to survive, so you take care of him. You've done quite well so far, for a 14 year old."

She was not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.

"When you walked into my classroom this morning, you were not surviving. You were living. This is a remarkable change, Olivia."

"I just needed to be away for a bit," she defended, trying desperately to avoid his piercing eyes.

"That's not the whole truth, is it?"

She felt like a deer in the headlights as she glanced up at him for a second.

"You are slipping back into survival mode."

"Pity." He threw the word at her like a dagger.

She couldn't stand his scrutinizing gaze and looked down at her knees.

"I believe you made a decision this weekend. Something must have happened. Did he forget your birthday? Something worse?"

No answer.

"Whatever it was, you decided not to live your life for him any longer. Which I would consider quite brave indeed."

Her gaze found his again, encouraged by his words.

"He said..." she caught herself before she said something stupid.

"What did he say?" His words had softened now, almost sounded caring.

"Did you realise he wasn't going to get sober anytime soon?"

"Did you decide you didn't want to be a slave? Very understandable, if you ask me."

Olivia was shocked at how spot on his deductions were, but she didn't want him to know.

"I'm not his… he just wants my mother back-"

She stopped herself again. This was thin ice and she knew it somehow. The way her father had looked at her in the shower that time, or the moment when he had noticed her wearing her mother's clothes, and the way he pressed himself against her in his bed. She knew it wasn't completely normal. She knew he just loved her very much and felt lonely, but it made her feel uneasy, and she knew that if she mentioned things like that, it would alarm people.

Mr Holmes was looking at the wall now, his gaze seemed distant.

"I just wanted to get away from all of it, just for a little while. And I knew everyone would be at Lucy's," she added.

Her voice pulled Sherlock back into the present. He stood up swiftly and started slowly pacing the Persian rug in front of her.

"So you got there, somehow. Ah, your bicycle, of course. And everyone was nice to you, I presume, having a good time. Making you feel a bit careless, perhaps?"

He tried to fish for information, but he saw that she knew what he was trying to do.

"You are interrogating me. Should I ask for a lawyer?" she asked, glad that they weren't on the topic of her dad anymore.

"If you're honest, I will consider representing you," he huffed, still pacing.

"I'm also assuming there was a lot of alcohol, and a lot of young men who would do anything to get you to come upstairs with them. Do you understand why Mr Watson is a bit worried?"

"It's none of his business," she blurted out.

"He is trying to help you. He feels responsible."

"I don't need help. Nothing happened."

Mr Holmes said nothing but suddenly strode towards her chair, towering over her for a moment. His proximity sent shivers down her spine.

He crouched down a little so that he was at eye level with her and she retreated against the backrest, her heartbeat quickening. He was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body.

"It's easy to detect what people have consumed when you look close enough. Your eyes tell me..." he peered into her eyes and she felt the room start to spin. She dared herself to look straight back, drawn towards the crystal shimmer in the blue orbs "…that you definitely had something illegal in the past 24 hours."

His face came a bit closer and Olivia had the urge to touch his lips. He sniffed. "I can still smell some horribly sweet alcoholic concoction on your breath".

She could feel her heart start to pound in her chest when he moved his face to her neck and breathed in deeply, smelling her hair.

"Marijuana... Really, Olivia?" He actually sounded surprised now.

Sherlock noticed her skin flush at this deduction, but she didn't seem extremely embarrassed. He was curious to see what would happen to her body if she were.

"Furthermore…" He lowered his voice intentionally, staying close to her face. "…I can see that you are not, at present, wearing a bra, which you normally do. This indicates you lost it in a different room than you slept and/or didn't see it in your hurry to get dressed this morning. Not sure if this is a positive or a negative deduction, but an interesting one none the less."

The mentioning of her bra made Olivia suddenly aware of how much of her breasts was visible from his position (he was still hovering over her), and instantly felt her nipples harden.

Sherlock saw it, too, and he felt hot blood rush towards his groin. Swiftly, he sat back down in his chair, legs crossed and silently cursing his own body. Sitting down didn't help much though, as he could still observe the hardened buds press slightly against the thin fabric of her dress. The sight sent distracting images through his brain, depicting several things he could with them.

Olivia suddenly realised that she was exciting him just as much as he was making her squirm and she felt heat pool between her legs. She inhaled deeply through her nose, causing her lungs to expand and pushing her breasts outward for a moment. As she exhaled, she saw his eyes close and wondered if she was having such an effect that he had to calm himself.

"Almost nothing happened," she said, a bit more confident now and wanting more of a reaction out of him. "It was just an experiment."

"What was?"

"Kissing."

Sherlock felt a familiar tug in his lower abdomen.

"To test what, exactly?" His low voice now sounded strained to her.

"To see if I like girls … as well as boys."

"I see, so you happily gathered some data while you could."

"It was mostly just kissing… nothing to worry about."

She looked at him innocently and Sherlock repressed the urge to demand more detailed information. He wanted to know exactly what she meant by "mostly", but knew it wasn't any of his business. And as long as it was Anthony and Rose (of course it had been Rose), there was no immediate danger to her.

In any case he needed to calm himself for a moment before he could end the conversation and get up. His deductions might be considered unethical already, risking her noticing his semi-erection was definitely out of the question.

"Well, I guess that as your mentor I should give you advice of some sort."

His words eased the sexual tension in the room, and Olivia smiled involuntarily at the thought of Mr Holmes giving her teenage advice.

His foot tapped against his desk in an irritated rhythm, until he spoke.

"I am going to tell what I believe Mr Watson would tell you, which is that there is nothing wrong with experimenting, as long is it's with people you trust and as long as it's not illegal."

She nodded.

"So promise to lay off the narcotic substances from now on, will you?"

"Promise."

"Good. We should go and see if Mr Watson was able to speak to your father."

The mention of her father felt like a kick in her stomach.

* * *

Mr Watson had not been able to reach her dad and asked Mr Holmes to take her home. She couldn't attend more classes without her uniform anyway, so it was best that they got her back to him as soon as possible.

"Take my car," he said and handed Sherlock the keys. John gave him a look that said _"I want to know exactly what you know when you get back."_

Olivia followed him across the schoolyard to the parking lot. At some point halfway he stopped abruptly, almost making her bump into him.

"Get your bicycle. We should put it in the car."

She had completely forgotten about it.

"I ehm… It's not here."

He frowned "Where is it?"

She looked at her feet.

"Hampstead Heath."

For a moment he was thinking. She could feel his gaze on her head.

"You left it there on Saturday night?"

She nodded.

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

She looked up and him and saw his disbelieving expression.

"It broke down! I had no choice…"

"You had the choice to cycle _around _the bloody park instead of through it," he said angrily, and started walking again. "You walked through an immensely big park, on your own, in the middle of the night. There is a difference between bravery and plain stupidity, Olivia."

Olivia did feel a bit stupid, but for some reason it felt reassuring that Mr Holmes got upset about her being in danger. His tall frame reached the shiny blue car and opened the passenger door to let her in. When he got in the driver's seat, his knees were almost touching the steering wheel. He huffed, mumbled something about having short friends, and slid his chair back before he started the engine and drove them out of the parking lot.

She told him the address and they drove silently towards her house. It wasn't a long drive, but long enough for her to come up with every possible scenario for what was about to happen. Her hand started gripping the leather seat as they got closer and Sherlock could hear her breathing quicken slightly. He knew she was scared, but wasn't sure for what exactly. Embarrassment? Rage? Disappointment?

He pulled up to the old house, switched off the engine and shifted sideways a little so he could look at her properly. She looked absolutely terrified now. Extremely tense and nothing like the daring young woman in his office.

"Ready?" he asked.

She swallowed and stared at her knees.

"You know… I can go by myself. You don't have to come inside… or anything."

It dawned on Sherlock that she might be just as scared of his reaction as of her father's.

"Actually, I'd like to speak with him."

Her lips pressed together and her knuckles had turned white from grasping the edge of her seat.

"Shall we go and see if he's in?" he asked gently.

She gave a small nod.

Sherlock followed Olivia towards the door. She had a key, but rang the doorbell, to give her father time to get up from wherever he was laying. When there was no movement behind the door for a full two minutes, she assumed he was unconscious.

Just as she was about grab her bag to look for her key, they heard stumbling footsteps in the little hall.

* * *

**I would love to hear your thoughts!**


	16. Revelations

**Good morning! Or afternoon/evening/night, wherever you are.**

** Thank you SO MUCH for the sweet reviews for chapter 15! They gave me an inspirational boost :)**

**I'm still having a LOT of fun writing this story.  
This is one of two short chapters I will upload this weekend :) **

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Revelations**

When her father's head appeared from the creak in the door, Olivia immediately knew how far gone he was. His bloodshot eyes and uncoordinated movements would make sure that Mr Holmes would notice it, too, she thought.

"Olivia!" he exclaimed in what seemed like relief mixed with desperation, and he grasped for her with shaking hands.

Her dress almost tore as his he pulled her towards him by her collar, and the moment he let go of the doorframe he sunk to his knees. He had not shaved in about a week, had not changed his clothes since Saturday, and smelled of sweat and alcohol.

Sherlock's left hand twitched as he watched.

"You're OK. _God_, you're OK," he gasped as the tears streamed down his face. His arms wrapped tightly around her as he cried, laying his head on her collarbone. Her arms were trapped by her side, but she turned her face slightly away from his breath.

Sherlock winced at the pathetic outburst of sentiment and felt like pulling her away from him. Olivia recoiled slightly at her father's touch and anger started building in his stomach, but he remained silent.

After about a minute she started pushing at him softly.

"Dad. We should go inside. This is Mr Holmes, my teacher."

Mr Edwards looked up slowly and his eyes widened, as if he first spotted the tall figure standing behind his daughter, giving him an ice-cold stare. He nodded, and with Olivia's help got up to stumble back inside. She had trouble letting him walk in a remotely straight line towards the living room, and he bumped into several pieces of furniture. Sherlock followed quietly and closed the door after him.

His eyes immediately started darting around the interior of the house, which clearly needed maintenance done, just like the outside. His hyper alert brain registered the paint that was peeling from door frames, the stains in the carpet, the unopened mail on the kitchen table, and the empty beer bottles that littered the floor.

Olivia's father asked if she was alright, to which she answered meekly. Sherlock got a painfully clear notion of what Olivia's life was like every day when she left St Francis. Even though he'd already suspected something like this, it was depressing to see how the girl had completely taken on the role of her father's caretaker, stepping back into it instantly and without effort.

"Olivia."

She looked around at him, still holding the trembling man by his arm.

"I need to have a word with your father in private."

She nodded and carefully let go of the hunched man, who was leaning heavily on a cabinet. If Mr Holmes felt any pity, which she hoped was not the case, he didn't let it show. "Sorry for the mess," she said and passed him quickly to go to the kitchen.

Sherlock stood in the living room for a moment, taking in the unorganised chaos of dirty glasses, used tissues, old newspapers, and food wrappings. Then he turned his gaze to the pitiful excuse for a father who was attempting to keep himself upright. Mr Edwards reminded him of people he knew when he was still using regularly. The trembling hands, the messy beards, the stains in their trousers, the filthy smell… a mere shadow of the person they had once been. A shadow Olivia undoubtedly clung to in the hope that she might help him get better, sacrificing herself in the process.

He approached and grabbed the man, who he already started to hate, by his shoulders. Before Mr Edwards could react he was pushed against the wall and a hand on his jaw forced him to look into a pair of angry grey eyes.

"Listen to me carefully. I know you're just an idiot who can't get over his wife's death, but it's not just your life you're throwing away. Right now, Olivia would be better off with no parents at all than with you, even though she loves you too much to realise that." Sherlock's voice quivered in rage and disgust.

Mr Edwards breathed heavily, panicking at the thought of social services knocking at his door to take his dear child away.

"Please, d-don't take her from me. Sh- she's all I h-have," he pleaded.

"Exactly. And she is not going to clean up your mess forever. Actually, she decided to stop doing that 36 hours ago, and look where you are." The man started to wheeze a little under the force of Sherlock's grip.

"Let me tell you this. You are going to let her go to school and let her see her mates. And if I notice that she has had to lift _one_ _finger_ for you again, I will personally make your life a living hell. So I order you not to touch the booze again for as long as she lives here. If you love her, that is."

The hissing threats emanating from Sherlock's teeth sounded terrifying.

"Y-yes. Of course. I will. I promise. Please don't take her away!"

"Then get yourself together and be a bloody father."

Sherlock let him go, to which the man collapsed in a heap on the floor, his chest heaving and eyes tearing.

"You have one chance."

He took one more disgusted look at him, stepped over his limp form, and walked towards the kitchen, tugging at the lapels of his jacket and twisting his neck both ways, easing the tension in his muscles.

* * *

Olivia was making an attempt at clearing up the kitchen, not being able to sit and wait while the house was filthy and Mr Holmes was inside it. She heard muffled voices from the living room, but could not make out what was being said. The fact that someone from the outside was actually seeing her father in such a state made her heart beat in her throat. It could mean the end of everything. He might be so disgusted that he'll tell her to get right back into the car, to hand her over to the authorities immediately.

She was about halfway through cleaning a pile of dirty dishes when he strode into the kitchen. His expression was worried and serious as he leaned with his back against the kitchen counter, next to her. She stopped scrubbing and turned to him. He looked a bit out of place among the grubby furniture, with his aristocratic features and his long dark coat, hands crossed in front of his chest.

"Olivia." He sighed.

"Did you tell him about… what I did?"

"No, that's up to you. I've just tried to make him understand that he needs to change things, but I expect it won't be easy for him."

She nodded in understanding.

"He has been trying. I swear." She tried to defend him.

Sherlock decided he should be at eyelevel for what he was going to say next, so he motioned her to sit down and pulled up a chair for himself. He could see the anxiety in her face and he couldn't supress a pang of empathy.

"I was just wondering… not so long ago, you told me you didn't trust me."

She didn't say anything, just looked at him with questioning eyes, her hands resting in her lap.

"I know that my… mood, might suggest otherwise at times, but you _can_ trust me. You should realise that."

She still didn't reply, uncertain and not wanting to lie to him.

"I will have to talk to Mr Watson about your father's… habit, and he will decide to contact social services or not."

"Do you think he will?"

"I do."

He saw tears well up in her eyes and her breathing become unsteady.

"I'm sure they have your best interest at heart, just like Mr Watson and I."

"What if… what if they say I can't stay here?" her voice broke into a sob and she bit her lip to repress more of them.

"I think they will try and help you to stay with your dad if that is truly what you wish, but Mr Watson knows more about these type of people than I do. It would be better if you talk to him tomorrow."

She nodded, wiping her tears away with her palm. The genuine worry emanating from his posture caused her to want to try ease Sherlock's mind.

"He's never beat me, you know," she said.

"I know." Sherlock paused as he tried to think of something nice to say. "He promised to get rid of all the alcohol. Maybe you can help him do that."

"Yes." Her voice sounded a bit strained.

"Will you be alright on your own with him?"

"I'll be fine."

"Good," he said, not convinced. He was apprehensive to leave her behind with a grown man who couldn't even walk properly.

"Look, if anything bad happens, dial this number." He took out a pen from his pocket and fumbled around for a piece of paper. Finally he just wrote on a five-pound note. "I will probably be here faster than the police. But if I don't pick up, try them." He handed her the note.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice, turning it over in her fingers. Sherlock could hear the tremor in her voice and knew it wasn't likely she would dial the number.

It took him a while to make a move and get up from the old creaky chair. He walked towards the door to be on his way, but turned around on the step. "Use the number. Even if you're not sure."

She nodded, and watched the man walk out. She stayed seated at the table until well after she heard Mr Watson's blue car drive away. Then she slowly got up to see if her dad was still conscious.

* * *

Mr Edwards was extremely pleased to have Olivia back, and seemed to genuinely understand that he needed to kick his drinking habit. Around 4 pm he woke up, took a shower and went to do groceries. He cooked her a meal, not once asking where she had been, just telling her over and over how happy he was that she was back safely. He wasn't even angry when she told him about her bicycle.

Olivia was happy to be able to quietly catch up on some homework in her room that evening, without having her ears constantly tuned to what he was doing downstairs. She had hope that he would keep his promise, and that nobody would be able to find a reason to remove her from the house. She changed into her pyjamas and laid down on her bed, reading and scribbling down mathematical equations for Mr Anderson.

After a while, however, she lost focus and her mind started wandering back to everything that had happened over the weekend. The sensation of alcohol in her blood while she danced with Rose, the incredible laughter they'd shared in the living room after breathing in steam from the vaporiser, the powerful feeling she'd had as Anthony's arousal pushed against her when they kissed. Her scribbling hand slowed as the soft fabric of her sheets reminded her of kissing Rose in the bathtub. The soft breasts pressed against her and the gentle exploration of her mouth had felt so different from Anthony's eager groping. Rose's words still rung in her head, telling her to explore herself before she let anyone else do it.

Olivia turned herself on her back, carefully pushing her text and notebook towards the side of her bed. She had never really known what to do with her own body. There was a tickling sensation sometimes when she washed herself in the shower, but had never been curious enough to explore further.

Now, she let her head rest back onto her pillow, relaxing her muscles while she slowly pushed her hand down the waistband of her pants. Her fingers hesitantly stroked along the extremely soft skin of her folds for a while before they slowly found their way between them. When her fingertips brushed her clitoris, she gasped at the electric tingling sensation. Her thoughts almost automatically went to the most arousing thing she knew, which was the man who had stood bent over her in his office earlier that day.

The thought of his gaze fixated on her hardened nipples sent a surge of pleasure through her body and she moaned softly. When she moved her fingers again they were slickened by wetness. Her eyes closed and her back arched involuntarily as her strokes became a little quicker. She could see his face inches from her as he inhaled and told her exactly what he knew she had done. In her imagination, she did kiss his full lips, and he instantly responded to her, as if it was what he had been waiting for.

His tongue was gentle in its exploration of her mouth, but his hands betrayed lust as he snaked one into her dress to fondle her breast. Olivia moaned softly now, her left hand cupping her own breast, pretending it were his elegant long fingers rubbing small circles over her nipple. Her breath started to quicken and shallow.

It didn't take very long for Olivia to feel the heat spread from her frantically moving fingers through the rest of her body and her legs started to tremble. When her very first climax arrived, she gasped and then quickly bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out. The pleasure that crashed over her took her by surprise and sent a forceful shudder through her body.

The spasms subsided after what seemed like minutes, and it took a while for her to catch her breath. She lay staring at the ceiling in amazement for a while before she freed her hand from her moist pants. She had had no idea that she could feel like this, and felt like she had been let in on some grand secret most of her classmates had known about for ages. It also raised many questions in her mind. The next half hour she occupied herself with thoughts about how exactly men masturbated, if it felt the same for them, and how it would feel if someone else did it to her. However, her muscles were now completely relaxed and she fell asleep before she was able to finish her maths.

When Mr Edwards came up to check on his daughter she was fast asleep. He looked at her unconscious figure for a while and with remorse thought about how mature she had had to be for him in the past few months, taking care of him like a toddler. With tears in his eyes and trembling hands he removed the books from her bed and put them on her desk. When he drew the blankets over her body he leaned down and kissed her hair, taking in her scent. It was difficult for him to tare himself away from her, but eventually he went to his own bedroom, remembering to set the alarm so he could wake her for school in the morning.

* * *

**Anything you liked? Didn't like? Let me know!**

**Chapter 17 is almost finished!**


	17. Coping Methods

**Another one!**

**This chapter is a bit of a filler between more important events, but I thought it was necessary. There is some fun added in the middle!**

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC's sherlock, Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Smokescreen**

The following few weeks passed relatively quietly for both Olivia and Sherlock. Mr Edwards managed to remain sober and fixed his daughters bicycle. He made sure she didn't spend her time cleaning or worrying over groceries, and even tried to help her with her homework when he noticed she was struggling.

Social services came for a visit to their house about a week after Mr Holmes scared the shit out of him. The lady had smiled kindly and asked him some questions, to which he could answer that everything was fine now he was sober again. She gave him some information on local AA meetings and advised him to attend.

She had also asked Olivia some questions in private, mostly about what she did after school and if she felt stressed about anything. Then she had said she would discuss some things with Mr Watson before she made a decision on how they would proceed. They hadn't heard back from her yet.

Her father made an effort and went to the meetings, which gave him a lot of support. They made him realise he was not the only one who was struggling to get through the day. Although it was sometimes hard to listen to other people's traumas, they gave him two fixed moments in the week that he could work towards, feeling proud every time he could walk in and tell them he still hadn't touched a drop.

He was even able to let Olivia go and see her friends on weekends without getting completely miserable. She had to be home by 11 pm and was of course not allowed to drink anything. Olivia took the opportunity and spent her Saturdays with Rose and Lucy, which gave her an immense feeling of freedom. She kept her promise not to use any substances, thinking it was only fair as her father was making such an effort. It was an amazing feeling to spend time with her friends again out of school, and it made her feel so much closer to them.

Mr Edwards didn't know that a couple of times, instead of visiting her girlfriends, she met Anthony. They would go see a movie or walk around the city. Always in public places so kissing was as far as they went, which was fine with her. She didn't feel ready to go any further yet, not wanting give herself over or lose control over what happened to her body. She was still tentatively exploring it by herself. Anthony sometimes got a bit impatient but kept his hands to himself when she told him to.

Her happiness was visibly noticeable, and she rarely came to ask the key to 221 anymore, which put Mr Watson's mind at ease. Twice, Mr Holmes asked her how she was doing, but didn't ask her to come to his office anymore. It even felt as if he was ignoring her, and she wondered in disappointment if the sexual tension that day in his office had been imagined. She was limited to watching him pace in front of the blackboard and thinking about him when she was alone.

* * *

Sherlock saw no reason to interrogate his favourite pupil again. He knew he had to keep his distance in order to avoid any ethical transgressions. This was one of the few cases he did actually worry about crossing lines. His imagination had run a bit wild, and it disturbed him to know that he of all people could be so aroused by a girl her age. He refused to let her enter any erotic territory in his head again, although she made it hard for him to focus sometimes in class. When she sat silently, her eyes following him, her legs slightly apart as they were so often, it was simply too easy for him to imagine her full lips touching his. It was alarming. He tried to look at her as little as possible.

Sherlock also found it hard to console his attraction to the girl with the feeling that he needed to protect her. How could she ever trust him if he kept thinking about her in such carnal ways? How could he take himself seriously as a teacher who had sent bloody social services after her father, when he had to do everything possible to keep his mind from imagining her nipples harden underneath his fingertips? Even though she had shown clear signs of arousal in response to his teasing, he knew the line between sexual exploration and irreparable damage was thin.

Then there was the boy, Anthony Wilding, who couldn't keep his hands off her. He was always close to Olivia, touching her, trying to kiss her in the corridors, and it sparked a jealousy in Sherlock that he had never experienced before. Although Anthony seemed relatively nice for a boy his age, Sherlock had fantasies that involved strapping his hands behind his back and locking him in the broom closet until Christmas.

While Olivia seemed to be doing much better, looking healthy and hardly sleeping at school anymore, Sherlock was coping less well. Everything irritated him, sleeping was a chore, and increasingly he felt the need to conduct dangerous experiments or numb his mind with whiskey, sometimes at the same time. The only times he got truly excited was when he could let the pupils do chemical experiments, which were bound to end with somebody losing their eyebrows and therefore only allowed to happen when the curriculum obligated it (On days like these, John made up ridiculous excuses to stop by his classroom to check up on the damage).

John and Mary noticed the change in his mood and physique. He was even paler than usual, rings around his eyes started showing, and Mary suspected he was losing weight again. After many motherly remarks about his health he promised to let her check him during a free period.

They had even contacted Mycroft. An official looking letter with a royal stamp was hand delivered to 221B Baker Street. It said: "You lost. Now get over it, little brother." It was his way of telling Sherlock he was once again considered a member of the Holmes family. He wasn't planning on using this privileged position in the near or distant future though.

Besides teaching and monitoring his pupils' progress with difficult exams, he tried to bury himself in other work. Burke had obviously not kept his files up to date, or remotely listened to his pupils. So besides with Billy Mitchell, who had come back to school, Sherlock had a chat with all of them to make sure they were not in any danger or being too self-destructive. It was terribly dull to constantly pretend he was interested in their illnesses, their interests, their love lives, their worries about college, or their rebellion against parents. The older they got, the more they lied, and the more mercilessly he picked them apart.

* * *

"Olivia, come! We're doing an experiment!"

Rose was standing by the door to the changing rooms, waving her over excitedly. Olivia walked to the changing room, dragging her gym bag along for another excruciating double rugby training, the only physical exercise Simmons considered a proper sport. Rose explained to her what the genius plan was.

"Sir, we're very sorry but we can't do P.E. today."

Roy Simmons, standing at the edge of the rugby field where several pupils were already warming up, looked up from his lesson plan at the three young ladies in front of him. He was a fit man in his forties, who took pride in his appearance and disciplined lifestyle. Teaching P.E. was something he enjoyed, especially because kids were so honest compared to adults. He liked them and he liked to think they appreciated his teaching. He wasn't however, very adapted to the open sexuality of the young girls. He'd been married for over twenty years and still looked away when his wife changed into her pyjamas before going to sleep. At least, that's what the rumours were after Mr Holmes deduced him once.

Rose, who had been talking, looked genuinely regretful.

"Why do think you can't join in?" he asked.

"Because we're on our periods." Lucy replied.

Simmons blushed instantly.

"W-what… a-all three o-of you?" he stammered.

"Yes sir. It is perfectly normal that when girls spend a lot of time together, their menstrual cycles will synchronise. And we have been spending _a lot_ of time together lately."

"Well I-I… I don't know w-whether…"

"Of course you wouldn't." Olivia said in her sweetest voice. "You're not the kind of man who would poke his nose into women's issues." She stepped forward and laid a warm hand on his tanned arm. "But our bodies are just very sensitive."

They could see his resolve weaken as he looked into her innocent eyes.

"Besides, things would become a bloody mess if we were to run around right now," Rose said stone-faced. Olivia had to hold her breath not to laugh.

"Oh dear. Yes, alright, just… go and do whatever it is you need to do!" there was a slight panic in his voice.

"Thanks for understanding sir. You're our favourite teacher!" Lucy said cheerfully as they walked away.

When the changing room door shut behind them, they burst out laughing.

"The look on his face! Priceless…" Lucy sighed as she wiped her eyes. "Sarah was right. This totally works."

"Maybe we should ask Mary for some tampons, just to make it more credible?" Rose said, and they set off to the nurse's office.

When they arrived at her door, Rose didn't knock. She just pushed through, like she had many times before, and realised her mistake too late.

As they followed her inside, Olivia almost stopped breathing and Lucy whistled through her teeth.

Mary was just putting away her stethoscope, in conversation with none other than Mr Holmes. He was sitting on the edge of the exam table, his dark purple shirt still open, showing his slim but toned chest. There was a screen, but Mary hadn't bothered closing it, not expecting people to just walk in. Rose giggled at her friends' reactions.

"Ladies, calm down. Let Mr Holmes get dressed without people ogling him." Mary said. She smiled slightly, because Sherlock had this peculiar attractiveness and it was funny to see how girls their age were already very much aware of it. She wondered how aware Sherlock was of the fact.

Olivia's eyes were transfixed on his chest. His creamy skin looked so incredibly soft and she could imagine trailing her fingers through the little curled hairs. The long fingers slowly but gracefully worked his buttons, and her gaze fluttered towards his face, where she found his shocking blue eyes gazing straight back. _Oh._

She blushed and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus on what was being said.

"Shouldn't you be in P.E. right now?" Mary asked, while she took down a couple of notes on Sherlock's general condition.

"We need tampons," Lucy said bluntly.

"Simmons let us go because we're on our period," Rose explained.

Mary smirked. "Really? All three of you. Interesting."

Sherlock was back on his feet, putting his jacket on, and gave them each a short glance. He raised one suspicious eyebrow.

"No you're not," he said, without any sign of discomfiture over the topic.

"How the f-…" Rose's words were cut short by a stern warning from Mary.

He was about to walk out, but she called him back.

"Wait a minute, Sherlock. I must press you to eat more. You've lost weight and your blood sugar level is on the low side."

"Of course, Mary."

Olivia immediately gave him a worried look, but instantly forgot about Mary's words when he gave her a wink. She had trouble keeping her breathing calm.

After he left there was a moment of silence in which Mary eyed the three girls.

"So, if you don't need tampons, what are you really here for?"

Lucy quickly thought of the second thing she would ever visit Mary for.

"The pill," she blurted.

* * *

A couple of days later, Richard Brook came walking into Sherlock's office, nonchalantly looking around the cluttered chaos and asking him questions. The man had made himself obnoxiously popular in record time, engaging the pupils in animated classes and extracurricular activities like a school paper and, of course, the Christmas performance. He had the magical ability to make the pupils want to work for him, and to make Sherlock want to punch him.

However, his intelligence was intriguing, as he was the only other teacher that didn't bore him to death. Therefore Sherlock decided to tolerate the man on his territory.

"They talk about you, you know," Richard said as he took a pack of cigarettes out of his grey pinstripe suit jacket. He'd sat himself down in the armchair in the corner.

Sherlock turned his chair towards him and narrowed his eyes.

"Whom do you refer to as 'they'?"

"The pupils, of course," Richard said as he leaned forward and offered the other man a smoke.

"Ah, them." Sherlock took the cigarette between his lips (his desire for cigarettes had increased dramatically over the past few weeks) and let Brook light it for him.

"You've gotten yourself quite infamous."

"Well, they need something to talk about, I guess. Not much going on in their lives." He took a nice long drag of nicotine.

Richard chuckled. "Not all of them are bored, though."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose, waiting for him to explain, whilst letting the smoke flow quietly out of his nostrils. To a stranger, the two suited men might have looked like philosophers, sitting in a shady room full of books, talking and smoking.

"John told me what room 221 is used for."

"Ah, St Francis himself. Can't say I agree with his soft methods."

"Of course, you prefer the harsh method of cuddling them when they cry." Richard said amusedly.

Sherlock remembered John saying something about Richard the day he fell asleep with Olivia in 221, but didn't know what the man had seen. He decided not to respond.

Richard gauged Sherlock's reaction through the thick cloud of smoke that was forming.

"It looked utterly adorable. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone you have a heart," he chuckled in his high-pitched voice.

"Olivia Edwards is one of the best pupils in my class. Lovely singing voice… Didn't her mother pass away earlier this year? I heard something about a visit from social services."

"Did she confide in you?" Sherlock's cigarette was balancing loosely between his fingers, forgotten for a moment. The thought of Olivia opening up to Richard bothered him more than he wanted to acknowledge.

"Not in detail. But she seems so eager to please and tell people exactly what they want to hear. I just wondered if she's coping as well as she appears to be."

Sherlock was hesitant to speak about Olivia's private life with others, but Richard's voice and body language expressed genuine concern, and it wouldn't hurt having another person look out for her. He couldn't make his jealousy more important than her welfare.

"Her father's an alcoholic. Quit last month. It's still hard to tell if he'll keep it up."

"Hmm… It's easy to slip back into old habits, isn't it?"

Sherlock looked at him sharply.

"I tried to quit several times. But it's just too _good_, don't you think?" Richard said amusedly as he took another drag from his cigarette and blew a smoke ring.

He relaxed again.

"True." The orange tip glowed as he sucked air through his own. He felt Richard's eyes on him as if they were burning through his clothes.

"You're doing quite well yourself, in terms of popularity. I bet you let them fuck around with costumes and props all day," he sneered.

"Fucking around with props is more fun than you think, Sherlock." Richard said with a wink.

Sherlock pretended not to see it. Brook was a handsome man, but he had other things… people on his mind.

"Speaking of fun, John and I are going for drinks tonight. He needs some time off worrying about everybody. You should join us."

"No thank you. I've got more useful things to do than be social." Sherlock drawled.

"Of course you do! So _stupid_ of me."

However, Sherlock could see the man knew he was lying. "_You'd rather get drunk on your own," _his eyes said.

Richard stood up and put his cigarette out in the crystal _-notstolenfromthepalace-_ashtray on Sherlock's desk.

"Well, I guess we'll see each other on the bus then, won't we?"

"What bus?"

"The school trip is this Saturday. Fun fun fun!" He said as he walked out of the office.

Sherlock closed his eyes and let his head fall back, groaning as he remember the _weekend of hell_ that lay ahead.

* * *

**I would love to hear your thoughts! Did you like Mr Simmons? :)**


	18. School trip I

**I hope you like this chapter. **

**Please leave me a review! They make me so happy! **

**Disclaimer: Based on BBC Sherlock. Not mine.**

* * *

**Chapter 18: School trip I**

"Okay! Let's do this in an orderly fashion please. One by one."

IT was Saturday morning and John was standing next to the school bus, shouting out names of the 3rd year pupils, to make sure they didn't leave anyone behind. The driver was standing next to him, finishing his last cigarette before starting the two-hour drive to Amberley, South Downs National Park. He was dreading the journey as he noticed the energy of the 50 teenagers jumping up and down before him. As their names were called, they jumped into the bus to find a seat, arguing who got to sit next to whom.

"Garrison!"

"John, I can't come. Mycroft has this matter of national importance he needs me for."

"Bullocks Sherlock. Your brother has called me several times over the past few weeks asking about you. You haven't called him back once. Now stop fussing and get on the bus."

Sherlock was talking in John's ear, using his friend to shield himself from the beam of energy coming from the pupils.

"I was thinking. Maybe it's wise to bring an extra car. You know, just in case one of them needs to go home."

"You're not driving my car, Sherlock. Get on the bus. Griffin!"

"Oh come on. It's a proper plan. Safety first and all?"

"Don't worry sweet pea, they'll get tired soon," Mary told him lovingly. She'd come along to see them off. "And anyway, you can sit in front, facing away from them."

"Don't call me that when there's other people around!" Sherlock whispered angrily. "And obviously. I called shotgun weeks ago."

She chuckled at this reminder of how big of a child Sherlock could be. But he was not whining over nothing, she knew. He always had trouble with social gatherings. People crowded him and smothered him with information, even though they didn't mean to. The reason he learned to cope with the school was that he had control over his classroom and could create a barrier between them, picking out only the information he actually wished to know. That would prove to be much more difficult this weekend, and he knew it. She pulled him in a warm hug.

"Before you know it, it'll be time to go home and you'll regret you can't stay any longer."

Sherlock frowned suspiciously. "Are you practicing motherhood on me?"

"You're the closest thing I have to a kid!"

Before Sherlock could give her a scolding, John intervened.

"_You_ need to board the bus now so I can peacefully kiss my wife goodbye. If you don't, I _will_ make them sing songs the entire way. Mitchell!"

Sherlock grumbled and stepped around John to get on the bus.

"And I told you to wear sensible clothing!" John said, noticing Sherlock's suit.

"It's in my bag. I'm reserving it for when we reach even more excruciating circles of hell."

Sherlock entered the already humming vehicle and sat himself down at the window seat in the front row, ignoring pupils who greeted him. He was dreading this. Two days with 50 hyperactive people in the middle of nowhere. Not good. On top of that, he'd have to watch Anthony Wilding's manic happy gob the whole time, still completely dazed with _Au d'Olivia_.

He completely ignored Sally Donovan, who gave him the same treatment, and Richard Brook, who cheerfully hopped on the bus in full hiking gear and a warm hat. Sherlock could see the man wink at him in the reflection of the window. John asked Sally and Richard to sit in the back and keep an eye on things at that end.

Thankfully, John needed to be close to the front in order to address the pupils, so he came to sit next to Sherlock as the bus set off.

The trip started with Emma realising she'd forgotten her bag from her dad's car, so they had to turn back after 10 minutes. After that was sorted, Sherlock cringed increasingly as John was kept busy managing the screaming, preventing pupils from eating all their packed food within the first half hour, handing out bags to the ill ones, and intervening in an almost fistfight.

"Sherlock, I need you to do a check," John said after about half an hour as the sat down again, already looking exhausted.

"He's 48 years old and sober. Studied to become a vet but never finished his degree, hates his current job. Involved in a bad marriage but trying to patch things up with his wife, mostly for the sake of their daughter. He's addicted to nicotine and wine gums and dreading this trip just as much as I am. But as I said, most importantly, he's sober."

"Jeez, Sherlock. At least lower your voice. And I didn't mean the driver." John whispered.

"I meant the pupils. I need to know if any of them have alcohol or drugs with them. I don't want to have to worry about that."

"Then you should have stayed at home," Sherlock said, but he got out of his seat and put on a dangerously authoritative expression.

The first excitement for the trip had worn off a little bit and the pupils were calming down. Sherlock didn't mind talking to them now, as long he was in control. Slowly, he made his way along the isle and scanned the kids to his left and right. The predatory expression on his face was well known to them by now, and Sherlock could tell exactly which ones were hiding something illegal, mostly by the way they tried to avoid his gaze.

It turned out that four pupils had brought alcohol and two brought drugs. Lucy Griffin was one of the culprits. Vodka, he deduced. She tried to get away with it by flirting with him, which was, of course, no use at all.

When he came to the back of the bus he scanned the back seat, where Richard and Sally were bunched up with three pupils. Sally was looking much more annoyed than when she had entered the bus, and Sherlock restrained himself, not voicing his knowledge of her failed flirting attempt with Richard, who was playing a card game with Eric Walker.

"I'm teaching Eric to play poker. Care to join us?"

"Wouldn't want to lower your confidence," Sherlock said before he turned around and made his way back to the front. He felt little nauseated from walking around, so when he sat back down he tried to move as little as possible.

"Danny, Lucy, Patrick, Dave, Emma and Hugh's bags need to be emptied on arrival. I expect most of the incriminating items to be in the loading space right now."

"Patrick? Damn it. I confiscated a pack of cigarettes from him the other day."

"Prepare for something worse this time."

Sherlock felt his stomach contract a little bit and took a deep, slow breath. He crossed his legs and grabbed the armrests tightly, sitting ramrod straight while focusing on anything but the moving landscape as they sped along the A3.

"Feeling ill?" John asked.

"I'm fine."

As he said it, a loud whooping noise came from somewhere in the middle of the bus. Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to block out the sensory stimulation.

"I'm not getting up again," he added, but John was already moving in the direction on the sound.

When a couple of minutes later he came back with Olivia trailing behind him, Sherlock looked up and frowned.

"What's going on?"

"I've told Olivia to sit with you. I'll be over there." He jerked his head to indicate the seat that was now empty somewhere in middle of the bus.

"Why?" Sherlock kept a tight hold on the armrests.

John hesitated. "Inappropriate behaviour," he huffed.

"Great."

John moved back to sit next to Anthony. It was better to have somebody in the middle anyway, he thought, and didn't want to do that to Sherlock.

Olivia sat down in her newly assigned seat and Sherlock refused to look at her.

"Hi."

"Hi," he replied to her reflection in the window.

She looked nice in jeans and a well fitting jumper. It was the second time he saw her in something else than her school uniform. Her hair was down, as usual, and she looked much happier than a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, this also increased her attractiveness by… about a third of what it already was, Sherlock judged.

"You look very pale."

"I'm fine. You look… different." His long fingered hand came free from the armrest for a moment, making a gesture to indicate her figure.

"My dad let me buy some new clothes for the trip."

"Guilt trip."

"Sorry?"

"Never mind."

It was unnerving to see her stare at him like she was.

"Are you going to be sick?"

"Of course not," he snapped, finally turning his head towards her.

"Besides, you do not have the right to be nosy. What on earth did you inappropriately do for John to punish you?"

She blushed.

Sherlock realised she had been kissing skater boy. He tried not to envision it, but failed.

"Still experimenting? I'd have thought you had come to the conclusion by now that the boy-…" He cut himself off as he felt his stomach clench in protest.

Olivia didn't respond, but just gazed happily out the window.

"Did you have something for breakfast this morning?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"Then that's probably why you're feeling ill."

"I'm _not_ feeling-…" Sherlock had to steady his breathing to subdue the need to vomit.

Olivia fumbled around in her bag and took out a lunchbox.

"Would you like a sandwich? It'll make you feel better."

Sherlock knew it probably would be better to give his stomach something else to do than yell at him to get off the bus. They were only halfway to South Downs and he absolutely refused to vomit in front of 50 pupils. She smiled as he took a sandwich. It had cheese and cucumber on it and he munched slowly. It was actually pretty good.

When he finished he put his arm back on the armrest, but quickly removed it when his fingers came into contact with her hand.

During the rest of the journey he felt a bit better and tried to close his eyes while Olivia read a book, but it was difficult to relax or concentrate while sitting next to each other. Sherlock kept quietly observing the way her hair fell in front of her eyes and the way she kept putting it back behind her ear. Even though she didn't look up, he noted that she didn't turn the page either, her eyes scanning the same sentence over and over again.

A couple of miles from Amberley, John came up to the front to give instructions about what would happen upon arrival. Pupils would have to take their bags from the luggage cabin, and take their keys to the rooms in groups of six (no mixed gender groups).

"And I want you to be back at the entrance of the hostel no later than 11 am so that we can start the hike. Make sure you wrap up warmly!"

Before John could turn away to talk to the driver, Sherlock snatched the programme from his fingers. As he read, Olivia and John watched his eyes widen and his face go even paler.

"John. Just know that I will be as far away from these activities as I can."

"Which is not very far, I can tell you."

"Trust exercises? Collaboration? Confidence building? These are key ingredients for disaster."

"No, they're supposed to make the pupils get to know each other better. You don't necessarily have to join in, but at least give them some support."

"_Archery,_ John!"

But John was already with his back to him, denying him the chance to argue. A wrinkle had appeared between Sherlock's eyebrows.

"I'd quite like to learn archery," Olivia said after a couple of minutes.

"And I will make sure I am far out of range when you do."

The hostel was a lovely old building at the edge of the tiny village, close to the woods. Sherlock was glad to be out of the bus with his feet on solid ground, even though his suit didn't keep out the cold wind. While John confiscated illegal substances from the identified pupils, Sherlock walked into the building to interrogate the owner.

When he came back to hand out keys to the rooms, there was a lot of discussion among the pupils about the groups in which they would share, slowing the process down a lot. They ignored their teacher's impatient sighing, until eventually he threatened he would divide the groups himself, which magically resolved all disagreements.

As everyone explored the hostel and the surrounding grounds, Sherlock went to his room to change into 'sensible' clothing. Immediately the warmth of thick fabric made him more comfortable, although he realised that his jeans and hoodie also made him look dreadfully young. He would just have to show them he still had the same authority, even without the expensive suit.

The first activity on the programme was a 3-mile hike to the lake. In groups, the pupils had to navigate through the woods and arrive there within two hours. Sally and Richard would walk together slowly, so that they could keep an eye out for any pupils trailing behind. John and Sherlock drove to the lake in the bus to await them.

There was excited chatter among the children, as most of them couldn't wait to go on an adventure, or just couldn't wait to be out of sight of the teachers. Olivia formed a group with Rose, Anthony, Lucy, Peter, who knew how to use a map and a compass, Billy, who was very happy to be back at school and had decided he didn't like Eric anymore, and a boy named Patrick, who Lucy had bonded with rather quickly during the bag search. They were all wrapped up according to Mr Watson's orders, but soon coats were opened and hats were taken off, because the walking generated enough body heat.

The air was cold and fresh, but the warm red and gold colours of the trees were enchanting, especially for those who never really left London. They navigated quite well along their own assigned route and the other groups were out of sight within 20 minutes. Rose, Peter and Billy were actually having fun together, running around, and searching for the little stream they were supposed to cross at some point according to the map they were given.

Anthony and Olivia walked hand in hand, fingers entwined, and he pointed out the birds of which his father had taught him the names. She just smiled and enjoyed her surroundings, and was relieved to feel the tension from the bus ride float away from her. It had been rather thrilling to sit next to him, but also terrifying because it had been pretty clear he didn't want to be there at all.

After a while, they reached a dip in the land and crossed the small stream, by stepping from rock to rock. Patrick lifted Lucy off the ground, playfully pretending to throw her into the water while she shrieked and clung to him.

"If I'm going in, I'm taking you with me!" her laugh echoed through the trees, startling the birds.

"No! I can't get wet!"

"Why not? Don't tell me you can't swim!"

He stepped onto the riverbed on the other side and put her down.

"I can swim, but I have valuable goods to protect. Mr Watson only found my cigarettes." he grinned mischievously.

John watched Sherlock shiver. He was sitting on one of the picnic tables at the edge of the huge lake, hunched up with his deep blue hoodie covering most of his curls, elbows resting on his knees, smoking a cigarette. The man looked like an unruly and rather tall teenager.

"Go and wait in the bus if you're so cold."

"Can't smoke in there. Here comes the first group, anyway." He gave a nod in the direction of the treeline, from which a couple of eager pupils were already emerging.

Over the next half hour, most of the groups appeared from the woods and gathered at the side of the lake, ready to go for lunch. When Richard and Sally arrived, John started to rock nervously back and forth on his heels, peering intently at the woods. He was missing part of his flock.

"We're missing a group."

"Correction: _You're_ missing a group."

"Strange, we didn't see or hear anyone, and were walking really slowly," Sally said.

"I could do without them for a while actually."

"Three of them out of seven are your mentor pupils, Sherlock."

"Does that make me responsible for their disappearance?"

"No. I am making you responsible for their reappearance, though. I want you and Richard to go and look for them."

"You're going all Captain Watson on me, John. Calm down. They'll turn up within the next ten minutes, I swear." He just kept sitting on the table, peering at the treeline.

John frowned unhappily, but agreed to wait ten minutes, which felt like an hour. Richard assured him that they were all intelligent young people who would not just disappear, which only made him more concerned.

"Ok, that's it," he said when the ten minutes were over. "I'll take the others back to the village, you two go and find them."

Sherlock groaned soundlessly. He absolutely did not feel like venturing into the woods in the company of Richard Brook, but realised that this was exactly the type of thing John wanted him to come along for. Besides, there could actually be something wrong, which was a promise for some excitement. However, he did already have a hunch as to what was taking the missing pupils so long.

They took the route and started tracing it back in the direction of the village. Thankfully, the physical movement warmed Sherlock's body pleasantly, and the trees protected them from the wind. Richard questioned him about the Hound at Dartmoor, apparently having read up on his case history. He even asked how he stole his brother's identity to get into the research facility, apparently aware of his role in the government.

"What do you know about my brother?" he snapped.

"Oh absolutely nothing. John just mentioned him in passing."

Sherlock was about to scold him for being so irritatingly curious, but froze. Behind a dead tree trunk in a heap of leaves were Olivia and Anthony, completely engrossed in a kiss. Olivia's coat was open and with indignation Sherlock watched the boy's hands move underneath her jumper. For a couple of seconds, his detached composure faltered, and he kept staring intently, fists clenched in anger. The couple startled as Richard politely cleared his throat.

Olivia felt her cheeks burn as she saw the two men standing less than 50 feet away, getting a full view of what they had been doing. She pushed Anthony's hands out from underneath her clothes and gave him a warning look. Mr Brook seemed strangely amused, but in contrast Mr Holmes' face was like a threatening sky of dark thunder. She was relieved when he turned away from them and walked in the direction of the others.

Sherlock distracted himself from the insulting couple by following the cheerful voices he could hear from behind a close group of trees. Of the four pupils hastily getting up from their circle when he came in sight, he could instantly tell that two were high. Lucy and Patrick were giggling hysterically, while Billy, number three, still lay in the soft leaves, completely oblivious to what was happening. Sherlock ordered Rose and Peter to help him up, while he approached Patrick. Apparently John had missed something when checking the boy's possessions. He was often dim like that.

Recognising the hazy expression on his and Lucy's face, he asked, "What did you use?"

"Nothing sir. We're just high on life!" The boy's giggling stopped when he registered Sherlock's expression.

"Hand it over now, and I might convince Mr Watson not to expel you," he growled.

Reluctantly, Patrick pulled a small plastic bag of hash out of his back pocket and handed it to Sherlock. As they were all standing now, he quickly checked their pupils to see who should be punished. Rose and Peter were sober. They struggled to guide Billy back to the path, where Richard was waiting with the other two, still smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Sherlock strode towards Olivia and without a word took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look up at him. She blushed again. He did the same, but in a rougher manner, to Anthony. Neither showed signs of drugs, but the leaves in their hair were enough to reignite his anger.

Olivia was startled by the fire in Mr Holmes' eyes. It was not controlled, like his usual irritation. He almost looked hurt and why ever that was, it made her desperately want to make it right. However, he stalked ahead with Rose, Peter and Billy, obviously not wanting to be near her. The rest of the group set out after him.

Her distress must have been visible on her face, because Mr Brook came to walk beside her.

"Anthony, could you go ahead and see if Lucy and Patrick are alright? Thanks," he said.

"Are you alright dear?" he asked. "You seem a tad upset."

"I'm fine…"

"Are you sure? Anthony didn't… do something without your consent, did he?"

She smiled slightly at his concern.

"No. Anthony wouldn't do that."

"I expected as such. He's a pleasant boy."

She nodded, and her eyes lingered on Mr Holmes, who was already stalking far ahead of them.

"Is it really that bad? What we were doing?"

Mr Brook seemed a little taken aback by her direct question.

"Well… its not something the school would encourage you to do. But it was fairly innocent I guess. Nothing of _lasting consequence_, if you know what I mean," he chuckled.

"Mr Holmes is angry."

"Oh well. You can't blame him for wanting to protect his favourite pupil, can you?"

Olivia looked up, surprised.

"Really?"

"Well I guess I wouldn't know. But he always get's very protective when we speak of you."

"He talks about me?"

"If he were a talkative man I believe he would."

"He's often in a bad mood, but he has also been really nice to me. I don't want him to be angry."

Mr brook's face lit up. "In that case, maybe you should let him know how grateful you are. Do something nice for him."

"Like what?"

"I'm sure you can think of something he'd appreciate."

* * *

**If you review I will be forever grateful!**

**Next chapter will be up soon and will contain the very first physical contact of a sensual nature between Olivia and Sherlock, YAY! (not that any contact with Sherlock is not already sensual, of course)**


	19. School trip II

**My eternal gratitude for the reviews! I will reply individually if you are logged in :) Otherwise, thank you!**

**I apologise to the people who detest clichés, but this will involve a campfire ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 19: School trip II**

When the odd group of hikers got back to the hostel, John met them at the door. He let out a sigh of relief when he certified that nobody was hurt. The three stoners were banned from all further activities, but the measure didn't seem to make much of an impression on them. Olivia avoided any eye contact and waited for either Brook or Holmes to tell Mr Watson about her and Anthony's most recent _incident_, but it didn't happen. Thinking it best not to have any of them call her father about this, she made a silent promise not to kiss Anthony on school grounds (or trips) again. Pity, she thought, just when his skills were improving.

"Everyone's in the dining hall. Go and eat something quickly before we set off again. Sherlock, are you eating?" John asked as he saw his friend linger at the door, looking indifferent to the safe return, or maybe just bored.

"No, going to out fetch more cigarettes."

Before John could protest and make him feel guilty about destroying his lungs or for ditching him, the man had walked off again into the village.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon, while he and the other teachers took the group horse riding, John didn't see Sherlock once. While leaning against the fence watching the teenagers attempt to steer the animals in any direction other than the tasty grass, he wondered what was going through Sherlock's head at the moment. Apparently he didn't take his job very seriously and thought he could just bunk off, leaving the others to deal with the overexcited, loud, hormonal, and unpredictable group of minors. Did being his boss give him any authority over his friend? Probably none at all.

When they got back at the end of the day, the big terrace in the backyard of the hostel was used to have dinner. Richard taught a group of interested pupils to build a safe campfire, after which they roasted sausages, buns and marshmallows above the flames. By the time Sherlock came wandering around the hostel building, looking like a delinquent, they had already finished most of the food.

The lean man squeezed himself next to John on one of the big tree trunks that served as benches. His jeans were dirty with, as far as John could detect, mud, and although it was hardly noticeable, he was shivering.

Richard walked up and set a paper plate next to him. "I had them roast a hotdog for you."

Sherlock gave a small nod in acknowledgement but didn't make any indication that he was going to eat it. He just looked and frowned.

"So much for being a responsible headmaster. Where are the greens, John?"

He leaned towards the fire and lit himself a cigarette on the closest flame. John was about to feel guilty for neglecting to force any vegetables on the pupils, but then realised his friend was mocking him. He appreciated that Sherlock was acting somewhat social again and smirked.

"Found a kiosk, then?"

"Nope. You've picked a terribly unsuitable village. Got them off an old lady."

John frowned.

"Didn't think you'd be desperate enough to rob a granny. Did you turn yourself in?"

"Don't be absurd. She was merely expressing her eternal gratitude for my assistance in a case."

"What was the case?"

"Helped her dig up a grave."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock went on stoically. "She told me she suspected her husband wasn't in his grave. After considering the evidence I was 87% certain she was right."

"So you dug him up."

"No we didn't. Like I said, he wasn't there. Something to do with a diamond he swallowed on his deathbed. They arrested his brother an hour ago." He took a long drag from the cigarette and his eyelids closed halfway in bliss.

"Well, sounds like you had fun."

"Got me through the day."

It was getting dark. They watched the kids mess about with marshmallows until John thought it was enough and frankly getting a bit dangerous. He got up from his comfortable seat by the fire and ordered them to clean up and go inside. It was good to see that he at least still had authority over his pupils as they started picking up their mess. He would talk to Sherlock tomorrow.

Sherlock remained sitting on the tree by the fire and watched the bustle inside the building. Lights switching on and off, sounds of chatter, laughter, singing even, and games. He was glad John left him alone, knowing the man hadn't appreciated his absence. There were simply too many of them. He needed some time alone to process all the bloody social interaction and quiet his mind. It was calming to watch the flames crackle and bite into the wood. Throwing on a couple more logs, he revelled in the radiating warmth and pushed the hood back, exposing his messy curls. The entire day passed through his mind and he made an attempt at searching for feelings to find out why the kissing between Anthony and Olivia bothered him so much, but he had trouble understanding it. She was brilliant, but too young, too innocent, and too much his pupil for him to feel something as ludicrous as jealousy.

After a while, he noticed that the lights in most of the windows in the building had disappeared and everything had gone quiet. He checked his watch. He'd been sitting there for three hours. Reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire, he stared at it some more, phasing out a little until he heard the backdoor shut and soft footsteps come towards him. Without looking, he knew exactly who it was.

"Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"

"Ehm… I just thought you might be thirsty."

The sound of her sweet voice made his insides glow even warmer.

She put the two mugs she was holding next to him on the wood and sat down. The steaming tea looked incredibly inviting. Sherlock couldn't remember when he'd last had something to drink. He didn't say anything, but picked one up and cradled it with his sleeves over his hands, so as not to burn them.

Until now, Olivia had never realised how clothing could change someone's appearance so much. He looked almost ten years younger in his casual clothes, and his face was rather relaxed. As he stared at the flames, his eyes sparkled a strange ocean blue.

She thought about what to say, and regretted not thinking this through earlier, when she was nervously scuttling around in the kitchen, trying not to make any noise. The rest had gone to bed and she had told them she was going to take a shower, hoping they'd be asleep when she returned. Him sitting alone at the fire had seemed like the perfect opportunity to find out whether he was still angry. How she would go about it hadn't crossed her mind yet, though.

Thankfully, he spoke before she made a fool of herself.

"I gather the horse riding was as dull as it sounded?"

"Oh yes. They are so used to following each other around, that's all they want to do." While she said it, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees, a position that was becoming quite familiar to him now.

"Nobody fell off, then?"

She shook her head.

"Dull indeed."

He watched her shiver and scooted over so that his side was touching hers, giving her some of his body heat. She didn't shy away.

"What did you do this afternoon?"

"Oh, I needed to clear my head, delete some useless memories."

She frowned but didn't ask what he meant by that.

"Did you… delete what happened during the hike?"

"I didn't. Need to know how angry I have to be next time." The way he said it didn't sound exactly angry to Olivia, but a bit dangerous nonetheless.

"Sorry. It's just… we are… you know."

Sherlock didn't know, but kept silent.

"You really don't like Anthony, do you?" she asked.

"You really do, don't you?"

Olivia smiled. In the warm orange light it was difficult to tell whether or not she was blushing as well.

"He's nice, really. I like… being with him."

Sherlock huffed. "Well, if you're still experimenting with your attraction to the male and/or female gender, I can tell you it's not very difficult to figure out people's preferences."

She frowned, confused.

"Even if they don't know themselves?"

"Especially then! When they don't know it, it's almost impossible to hide it."

Curious now, she continued. "Okay well, what about Lucy?"

"Straight."

"Rose?"

"Gay."

"Anthony?"

"Anthony's sexual preference is you, which will remain so for the next couple of years, I would guess. So you'd better be honest with him now and tell him you don't actually fancy him, assuming you don't want to break his heart, that is."

"I-…"

"And you are straight, although I guess there is nothing wrong with _curiosity_. Is that enough information for you?"

She noticed in his the amusement in his voice and decided not to be shocked by this invasive analysis.

"Rose can guess it, too."

"Ah, Miss Edeson, knower of all secret love lives, if I correctly interpreted the notes I intercepted. Tell me, has she deduced mine yet?"

He said it with a wink, and Olivia blushed. She felt like he was testing her in some weird way, and decided on impulse to test him back.

"She says you and Mr Brook… like each other."

Her heart was beating faster now, wondering if he would tell her off for saying such a thing, and a little bit scared that he might answer confirmatively. Instead he just looked thoughtfully at the flames.

"Hmmm… She's only half correct on that one, I'm afraid."

He tilted his head and looked down to watch her process his words.

"Oh!"

"Right."

"She says Mr Watson is bisexual."

"He is." Sherlock caught himself too late and cursed in his head.

Olivia couldn't suppress a grin.

"I assume it is no use telling you that information is classified?"

"She will be very pleased to know." Olivia chuckled. She saw his eyes narrow at her but his mouth was smiling.

They quietly sipped their tea for a while. When she finished her cup, she put it down to her other side. After a moments hesitation Sherlock felt her rest her head softly against his shoulder. Affection took hold of his body, and he wondered how the feeling had become so much stronger since less then four weeks ago, when she had fallen asleep with him on the couch.

"Have social services contacted you again?"

He was almost sorry he asked, because he could feel the girl stiffen immediately.

"No they haven't. They said they might, just to check up on us. I hope they don't visit while I'm not home."

"Why, is he drinking?" There was only the slightest hostile edge in his tone.

"No! No he isn't," she said hurriedly. "He is doing great. No drinking. I just want to be there… to see their reaction."

Sherlock nodded in understanding. She wanted to keep control over the situation, like she had so desperately done before anyone else got involved.

"He's doing all the cleaning and cooking, and groceries, and he even helps me with my homework sometimes. He brought me to school this morning to wave me off."

"I saw."

He was happy that the man was keeping his promise. Olivia looked much more healthy. Right now, in the orange glow of the fire, she looked absolutely stunning. He let his eyes close for a moment, enjoying the warm weight of her head against the top of his arm. He was considering putting it around her when she spoke again.

"I sometimes think about when my mum died… isn't it weird that I never saw her wounds?"

"They generally try to avoid exposing children to stab wounds, especially when it involves a relative."

"I wish I had seen them. I keep thinking of the picture of that lady."

Sherlock sighed deeply but patiently. "Like I explained before, those were exceptionally nasty wounds which I should not have shown you. So please forget about that. Your mum's were probably hardly visible."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Possibly."

Olivia considered her words for a moment before she spoke again.

"For a person who tends to dislike people, you're really very sweet."

To this, Sherlock Holmes had no reply whatsoever.

It was quiet again for a couple of minutes, in which Olivia revelled in the feeling of the soft but surprisingly muscled upper arm against which her head and shoulder were resting. In contrast with the rather tense bus ride, it felt incredibly safe and pleasant to sit with him like this. She relaxed into his arm.

After a while he nudged her softly with his elbow.

"I can see your eyes closing. You should go to bed."

Olivia squirmed and sat upright, blinking slowly. When she looked up at Mr Holmes, the corners of his mouth betrayed a hint of a smile. She remembered Mr Brook's words from earlier that day.

Sherlock had returned his gaze to the fire, missing her comfortable warmth against his side, but suddenly noticed the girl's proximity. As he turned his face to see what she was doing, a kiss, one that was probably meant for his cheek, landed on the corner of his mouth. It was only a moment until she backed away again, blushing.

Her mouth opened to say something, but she quickly picked up their mugs and walked away, disappearing from the circle of light. He sat there, frozen like a statue, his mind reeling in an attempt to process what had just happened. The touch had been soft and lasted only about half a second, but his skin was still tingling. He waited for a couple of minutes, smoking his last cigarette _-was it seriously already the last one?-_ letting his heart rate slow down before finally getting up to go inside.

The movement made him aware that his body was tired, his back was cold, and that he was rather dirty from the grave digging. While attempting to retrospectively deduce Olivia's intentions for giving him that kiss, he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the tiny shower cabin that adjoined his room. The water took a little while to warm up, but it cleared his head a little so he could think properly again.

They had been talking about Anthony, kissing, sexual preferences, her mother, she had called him sweet… As the water trickled pleasantly down his neck and torso, the very clear sensation of her lips on his skin came back, and the full realisation of it sent pleasant shivers through his entire body. He moaned softly, and then cursed under his breath as he felt something flaccid rapidly grow towards something he didn't want to deal with. During the rare occasions he had sought physical release in the past couple of weeks he had stubbornly managed to keep Olivia out of his thoughts. Therefore it seemed ridiculous to him that he would get so incredibly aroused by an innocent gesture like that. He didn't want to do that to her, he didn't want to do it here, but his lower body enthusiastically disagreed.

A couple of minutes later he was leaning with his arm against the cold wall, his back still slightly arched from an ecstatic Olivia dominated orgasm. The touch of her lips was still lingering in all the places he had imagined it to be stimulating, which was basically everywhere. When his breathing had sufficiently slowed down, he washed away the evidence of his transgression from his skin and from the tiles. Ten minutes later he fell asleep, wondering why the mere thought of her had felt so unbelievably good.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast Olivia didn't dare look at Mr Holmes, who was sipping his coffee while Mr Watson made attempts to push food onto his plate (okay, maybe she did steel a couple of glances). She didn't know why she had felt so courageous at the campfire, and was extremely embarrassed. It was probably because he had been so sweet to her, it had been so relaxed, and his casual clothes had made him seem much less intimidating. But kissing him on the lips had not been her intention. She had been so scared of his reaction that she had left as quickly as she could, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Now she had no clue whether he was annoyed, disgusted, or just indifferent to her clumsy display of affection. She sure as hell wasn't going to ask. _What if he told Mr Watson? What if he told her father?_ It left her with a stressed feeling in her stomach.

It was a sunny day and he had changed his clothes back to the beautiful tailored suits he always wore, making it difficult not to stare. He mostly ignored her during the day's activities, but seemed to be in a much better mood.

First, they went abseiling from a cliff, which was completely new and terrifying for many of the pupils, and some of them outright refused to descend. Mr Holmes encouraged them by promising to give them their most recent exam marks when they reached the bottom. They were all in his head. Olivia was too full of adrenaline to pay attention to the way he told her the mark. She only remembered that it was an A.

During their final and long awaited activity, archery, he actually joined in, putting a big smile on Mr Watson's face. This smile cross-dissolved into a rather vocal expression of desperation and rage when a rather expertly aimed arrow was shot into a tree, a couple of inches from Mr Brook's head.

As they boarded the bus to go back home, Olivia rebuffed Anthony and went to sit next to Rose, the only person she trusted enough to keep her secret.

"I have to tell you something," she whispered.

Rose's head snapped towards her. "Don't tell me you and Anthony… because that is going bloody fast, Liv."

"No! No, that's not it."

First, she told Rose about what Mr Holmes had said about Mr Watson, and she grinned widely, clapping her hands.

"I knew it!"

When she whispered to her about the rest of her conversation with him, including the kiss, Rose gaped at her.

"You kissed him."

"Yes! It was supposed to be on the cheek, but he turned towards me."

"You kissed Holmes. The most unsociable person we know."

"He's not that bad."

"The man who you have secretly fancied since the start of term."

"Rose, cut it out! I know who he is."

"What did he say? Did he kiss you back?"

"Nothing, and it wasn't like that. I just walked away. He probably thinks it was awkward and weird, like it was!"

"Probably fantasizing about you right now," Rose said while she peered over the seats to the front, where some black curls were visible over the edge of his backrest.

"Sit down! You're supposed to tell me what to do. Friend advice and everything."

Rose couldn't stop grinning and Olivia sighed, but secretly Rose's excitement was affecting her. It was rather tempting to think he had liked it, even if it was just a fantasy. She let her thoughts wander back to the impossibly velvety texture of his lips.

"Well, I guess now it is his turn to act. He won't show any of his feelings in public though, so just wait until you're alone with him again. And tell me everything that happens, of course." Rose turned to see her friend with a dreamy look on her face, not listening to a word she was saying.

* * *

**OK, so... I might have gotten you a little excited when I was talking about _sensual physical contact._ But I'm sure you weren't expecting sex already, which would be inconsistent with this slowly developing romance.  
**

**However! I promise that there will be a (proper) kiss before Christmas, maybe even more... (its already November!)**

**I don't know how soon I will be able to get the next chapter up, but reviews will help me write!**


End file.
